


A Different Kind of Craving

by Justaidenwrites



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Additional Tags to Be Added, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Band member matsukawa, Blood Kink, Bottom hanamaki, Human Matsukawa, Human/Vampire Relationship, Implied vampire eating disorder, M/M, Makki is old and dramatic, Matsukawa has tattoos, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Vampire Bites, Vampire Oikawa, Vampire Sex, Violence, Werewolf Kyoutani, Werewolves, implied shadow hunter au, the Downworld, vampire hanamaki, werewolf iwaizumi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:20:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22706125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Justaidenwrites/pseuds/Justaidenwrites
Summary: Hanamaki is comfortable in his immortality, in his lonesome and quiet apartment in downtown Tokyo, where no one bothers him. Accept Oikawa,  but he's an exception. They're family.Until Oikawa drags him out to a downworlder bar for a concert against his will, and he meets one Matsukawa Issei, the first mortal Hanamaki's met to pique his interest in such a strong way.Matsukawa leaves Hanamaki wanting, craving more than just one night.
Relationships: Hanamaki Takahiro/Matsukawa Issei, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 16
Kudos: 95





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all here I am with a matsuhana fic because I'm weak I had so much fun writing this first chapter. Please enable me. I'm in love with this au already and the people in my dms know I've been going ham about it. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When you came in looking like that
> 
> Oh I knew it right there, right then
> 
> Baby I'ma take you home
> 
> Saw you out the corner of my eye
> 
> Why don't you just blow my mind
> 
> If I could just get you alone
> 
> Talking like you wild
> 
> I see through your smile
> 
> Why don't we go out and paint the town?
> 
> I know that you wild
> 
> You just in denial
> 
> Why dont you just let me take you down?
> 
> Oh, I could hold you down
> 
> Yeah
> 
> Why don't you just let me hold you down?

“Just one night,” Oikawa’s voice practically pleads, tinny through the speaker of the tiny, irritating device Hanamaki holds up to his ear. “Just one night out with us, and then you can return to whatever it is you do in that sad apartment of yours.”

“You said that last time,” Hanamaki reminds him. “Just one night, and yet I’m the one who ended up captured by American hunters! Do you know how hard it was to convince them I’m not a menace to society? I haven’t touched a human neck in almost fifty years!”

“Okay, so that trip got a little out of hand, but-“

“A little?” Hanamaki was standing in his apartments study. It would have been a bedroom, had he needed one.

Instead it was full of antique furniture – Younger than Hanamaki himself, which made him wonder what that made him – and shelves full of books and artefacts he’s coveted over the years. “I was there for two weeks, Tooru! And you didn’t even bring me sun glasses for the plane ride back! My eyes were sunburnt!”

“I promise I’ll bring sunscreen next time,” Oikawa says, as if that fixes anything. “And a hat.”

Hanamaki huffs, rifling a stack of papers for work. He hates using his computer. It hurts his eyes. He prefers to print out his work and scan it back in later. His coworkers probably think he’s some creep, but since he works primarily from home, it’s not as if it matters. He hasn’t even met most of them in real life, so he doesn’t care what they think.

“Can’t we talk some other time?” He asks. “In person? You know how I feel about telephones.”

“Cellphones, Hiro,” Oikawa corrects him. He’s more caught up on the lingo these days than Hanamaki is, which makes sense. He’s the one traipsing around with werewolves and mortals, dousing himself in layers of sunscreen and pretending to be human. “And no we can’t. Hajime already bought the tickets, and you’re coming.”

“I’m not going to a concert in some pub.” Hanamaki deadpans. “I’ve had enough loud music and police raids to last three more centuries.”

“’Hiro, stop acting like an old man.” Oikawa scolds him. “You’re well aware the time period of prohibition and speakeasies is over. You’re just being dramatic,” Of course, Oikawa is right, as usual. At this point, Hanamaki is just looking for excuses to stay inside. He likes inside, likes his apartment.

With Oikawa dropping by every few weeks with enough blood bags to keep him stocked, and the recent development of online shopping, he’s good to go. He could probably go the rest of his immortal life free of the outside world, and he would be completely content. Oikawa knows that, and yet he still tries. 

“Please, Hiro.” Oikawa says after a moment when Hanamaki stays silent, his voice taking on a more concerned edge. “Even for people like us, it’s not good to stay cooped up all the time. Besides, Hajime and the others miss you, too.”

“Miss me?” Hanamaki snorts, though his own voice is a bit softer now. “Those mutts missing me? I think they just like the fact that I’m a chew toy that actually fights back.”

Oikawa gives a little laugh, and goes quiet.

Hanamaki sighs. 

He really hates upsetting Oikawa. Especially since he knows the only reason Oikawa’s in this position is because of him, in the first place. 

“Fine,” Hanamaki gives in. “What time is the damn concert?”

“Yay!” Oikawa cheers. “Me and Hajime will be there at nine!” 

Hanamaki is already groaning at the thought of being surrounded by mortals, always so loud and carefree.

“I’ll be there.”

“Please wear something appropriate, Makki.” Oikawa says. “Take something from my closet. It might be a little outdated, but it’s better than yours.” 

Hanamaki growls out a goodbye, and hangs up the phone, tapping angrily at the red button on the screen until the call ends. 

Hanamaki finds that, when Oikawa moved out, he left more clothes than Hanamaki thought could ever fit into one closet. He has to pull most of it off the hanger to even get a good look at it, and putting it all back inside ends up more than a hassle than it’s worth. In the end, he settles on something that he things might be decent, for the time period. A pair of tight, tight fake leather that Hanamaki thinks he might have to cut off later, a black tank top, a white button up – silk, by the feel of it, or at least a silk blend -, and a black washed-out denim jacket. He doesn’t think this outfit was initially meant to be worn this way. He thinks he remembers Oikawa layering these much differently in the early two-thousands, but Hanamaki’s done his best to erase the fashion of that time period from his memory all together. 

He finds a pair of heeled boots tucked in the back of his own closet, and decides it isn’t too much to bother with some makeup. He’s going out for the night, might as well look a little bit more lively, eh? 

If that was even possible.

He ends up with simple eyeliner, and a sweep of purple shimmery eyeshadow just below the outer corner of his eyelid. Just enough to draw out the eerie, bright gold tint to his eyes. They flash red when he’s hungry, or if he’s trying to intimidate someone. But he hasn’t had to use that tactic in a while.  
A hundred or so years, at least. He hasn’t laid a hand – or his mouth – on an unwilling human since he was a fledgling, though he doesn’t like to think about those days. The days before Oikawa came to be. 

He bothers with the lightest dusting of a blush against his cheeks, and a rosy waterproof gloss of over his lips.

He leaves his apartment at two to nine, though he’s not worried about being late. 

It’s been a while since he’s stretched out his legs properly, felt wind in his hair. Even if it’s just a quick, two minute jog for him to get to the club, it’s enough to bring something back into him, to draw some air into his useless lungs for the first time in maybe a year, though he ends up coughing it straight back out in the alley behind the club.

It’s no good to just pop up out of nowhere in such a crowded place, especially with mortals around. They don’t exactly react well to people suddenly appearing out of nowhere. There’s been enough science fiction novels about teleportation to attest to that one. 

He finds Oikawa and Iwaizumi in front of the line to get to the club, one of the few people able to cut the line all together. He hears a group of mortals groan when Hanamaki joins them, and the three are let inside. They have no clue who they’re dealing with, what kind of club this is. If Iwaizumi wanted, he could tear the whole thing down and nobody would be able to do a thing about it.

Being the alpha of the Tokyo werewolf pack has a lot of perks, it seems.

“You clean up well,” Oikawa grins at Hanamaki as he approaches, linking their arms together subconsciously. “You even dug into the makeup, I see.”

“I look dead enough as is with it on,” Hanamaki says. “Every time I go out without it I get mortals asking me if I’m sick or something.”

“People, Hiro.” Oikawa scolds him, and pokes him in the nose with a long finger. “We just call them people now.”

“We’re all people,” Iwaizumi interjects, looking as broad and serious as ever, though there’s a bit more softness in his eyes when they land on Oikawa. “But only those who are mortal every question our health.”

Oikawa snorts, and buries his face against Hanamaki’s shoulder. 

“You guys always act so old!” He practically wheezes. “Please, just one night of talking like normal people. Just one.”

Neither of them promise him anything, and they slink into the pub. It’s more of a bar, Hanamaki supposes, all hard wood and glass tables and cramped floor space. There’s a bar to the left side, and a row of tables to the right, though most are already taken. At the very back is a decently sized stage, where a group of people seem to be getting ready for the upcoming show.

The bar, it seems, isn’t as full of mortals as Hanamaki thought there would be. He can smell a few here and there, mingling amongst the group, but the scent he picks up the most is werewolf, the pine and wood and wet grass scent they all carry with them. There’s the scent of the dead like him and Oikawa here and there, and he vows to stay as far from them as he physically can. The only other vamp he likes near him is Oikawa, and that’s a special circumstance. They’re family. Here and there he picks up a few other scents; pixies and nymphs and maybe even a satyr, which is a bit surprising but not all that rare. They’re all still around. They stay well hidden these days, but even a recluse like Hanamaki has to come out sometimes, he supposes. 

And then he picks up a curious scent, human for sure, but more potent. Heady, untouched.

“Who the fuck let an untouched get in here?” Hanamaki growls, immediately raising a hand to cover his mouth as his fangs pop into place, filling up his cheeks. Goddammit. He hates it when they pop in public. There’s a reason he stays inside.

“Makki, there hasn’t been an untouched in Tokyo in decades.” Oikawa says, though he looks at Hanamaki with concern. 

“When’s the last time you ate? You’re probably just hungry.”

“I might have gotten distracted working the last couple days,” he admits, muffled by his annoyingly long fangs. Most vamps his age would have mastered them by now, but he spends so much time focusing on keeping them in that having them out is purely an annoyance.

“I’ll get you a drink,” Oikawa pats his shoulder, and Hanamaki gives him an odd look. Oikawa just laughs. “Downworlder bar, Makki. They keep O neg on tap.”

He walks away, leaving Hanamaki to stand with Iwaizumi awkwardly against the wall and stare out over the rest of the bar. It’s not that they don’t get along, or aren’t friends, but they’ve never been particularly close. The only thing they really have in common is Oikawa, and how much they care about him. 

Even if he’s a drama queen. 

“How’s the pack?” Hanamaki eventually asks over the softly playing music as people begin to settle in for the concert, picking up drinks and food beforehand so they don’t have to work their way through the crowd later. Apparently it’s a pretty good local band, which one of Iwaizumi’s pack members is the drummer of. 

He forces his fangs back a little, and lowers his hand from his face, hoping the way his cheeks are puffing out isn’t too visible. He can still smell that potent scent, but Oikawa’s right. It must just be the hunger getting to him.

“It’s going fine,” Iwaizumi thinks, and Hanamaki thinks that’s all. He focuses on watching Oikawa across the bar, sweet talking the pretty grey-haired man making their drinks. Hanamaki can’t tell exactly what he is from far away, but he doesn’t seem mortal. He seems almost too alive, like he’s been around for centuries, and will for centuries more. “Tooru’s been helping out, actually.”

Hanamaki nearly jumps when Iwaizumi continues, but then casts him a look.

“Helping?” he asks. “How?”

“There’s been a bunch of new turns lately,” Iwaizumi says, green eyes shining, as he watches Oikawa across the room. There’s nothing but love and admiration in his gaze, though a stranger wouldn’t be able to recognize the look if you didn’t know how to find it. “Someone from outside the pack has been turning some teenagers, I guess. We’ve had a hard time wrangling a few of them.”

“How could Tooru help?” Hanamaki questions. “Wouldn’t one of us just set them on edge? I’m pretty sure my scent would still cause a few of them to shift if I showed up at your place.”

“I don’t know, really.” Iwaizumi says. “But I think he’s calming, to them. Even when they growl or bite him, he just soothes them. He never gets mad. He just… helps. While the rest of the pack gets angry and tries to force them to submit, he shows them that he cares.” He looks to Hanamaki. “It really makes me wonder.”

Makes me wonder where the two of you came from. 

He knows Iwaizumi wonders. Both he and Oikawa know that. But they both promised each other they’d never talk about it. To others, or among themselves. Neither of them could handle dragging up century old pain. 

Oikawa comes back with only two drinks in hand, a tumbler of whisky for Iwaizumi, and a glass filled to the brim with staining red liquid for Hanamaki. There’s a drip of red on Oikawa’s lip that implies he finished his own drink while still at the bar. He licks it away as he hands over their drinks, And Iwaizumi focuses on the sight of it so hard he almost misses his glass entirely. Hanamaki snorts, though he tries to hide it. Iwaizumi glares his way. 

Hanamaki’s heard enough from Oikawa to know that his friend doesn’t just get his food from bags like Hanamaki does. He has a very special source. If it tastes or smells a little bit like wolf, he doesn’t seem to mind.

Seeing blood other than his own on Oikawa’s lip probably causes a bit of Iwaizumi’s possessive nature to come out, Hanamaki supposes. 

Hanamaki takes his glass of blood down like a shot, careful not to spill anything or get it on his face. He’s sure he gets a few odd looks, but he doesn’t care. He’s thirsty. Most of the people here have more than one option here when it comes to their food source. He doesn’t. 

“Want another?” Oikawa asks him, more concern than teasing. Hanamaki shakes his head, finally able to pull his fangs fully back into his gums. 

“I’m good,” He says. “This should tie me over until the shows over.”

“You need to keep an eye on your eating,” Oikawa reminds him, quietly enough that Iwaizumi won’t be able to hear. “We can’t repeat this again, Hiro.”

“I’m not doing that,” Hanamaki shoots back, a low growl in his throat. He feels Oikawa flinch, and he sighs. “I just forgot to eat yesterday because I was trying to figure out how to send some stupid email back to my boss and my computer was being a dick,” He assures. “It won’t happen again.”

“Better not,” Oikawa nudges against him, and smiles. “Lets get up to the front. This shows supposed to be awesome.”

Hanamaki just hums and let’s Oikawa drag him to the front, Iwaizumi following close behind. He sets his glass on the bar counter as they pass by. The affects of the blood are starting to kick in, to warm up his insides and refresh his dead body. Drinking even this much always makes him tired, just makes him want to curl up with a nice book and have a calm, peaceful evening. Yet here he is. 

The lights start to dim just as they push through the crowd to get to the front, and one by one the members of the band come out. Hanamaki doesn’t know what they’re called or anything, but he recognizes the shaved blond hair if the drummer, his eyes rimmed with charcoal. He was just a pup last time Hanamaki saw him, newly turned and feral, ready to tear at anyone who got too close. According to Oikawa, the last five years of pack life and immortality have calmed him down a little, but not much.

He says he thinks the only thing that will help Kyoutani is getting revenge against the one who turned him, but Iwaizumi says vengeance is the bane of all healing. 

Hanamaki refuses to let himself have an opinion on the matter. 

His thoughts stop though when that heady scent gets stronger, right in front of him. He looks up, his nostrils flaring and his fangs popping, a man far too handsome to exist stepping out on stage.

Tall, broad shoulders, with thick brows and curly black hair. His skin is olive toned and tan, his eyes a deep brown that Hamamaki's own used to match. His arms are covered in sleeves of swirling tattoos, bare in the black top he’s wearing. 

He’s the untouched mortal Hanamaki smelled, and he’s gorgeous.  
“That’s him,” Hanamaki says to Oikawa, barely able to care that his fangs are showing. “Thats the untouched.” 

“Matsukawa?” Oikawa asks as the man – the lead singer, apparently – walks up to the mic only a few feet away from Hanamaki now. He can practically hear the man’s blood flowing, and he’s looking over the crowd with a calm, unaffected smile. “He’s been hanging around downworlders since he was a kid. There’s no way.” 

“I can smell it on him, Tooru.” Hanamaki says, adamant. “Not a single downworlder has laid a hand on him. How is that even possible?” 

Oikawa just stares at him. Hanamaki's always sensitive nose, and an untouched mortal isn’t exactly hard for him to pick up on. 

They’re rare these days, though you can usually find a few of them in more rural towns. But in a place as populated as Tokyo, where downworlders lurk everywhere? It’s almost unheard of, these days. The last untouched he met didn’t end well. 

To reach adulthood without being tainted by a downworlder. 

Gods, the blood running through that man’s veins... 

“I need another drink,” He growls out, unable to stay so close to such a potent, tempting scent. “Ill be back in a bit.” 

He head back to the bar, ordering a glass of O neg from the closest bartender, who looks at his popped fangs with sympathy as he serves it up. Hanamaki chugs it quicker than the last, and orders another, slapping down a few bills. 

This time, he’s able to pause and enjoy the drink as the music starts to play. Hanamaki turns to rest his back against the bar, pulling in his fangs as far as he can as he takes slow sips. 

When Matsukawa starts to sing, he freezes. 

His voice is deep, and smooth like molasses. He plays the electric guitar, and he and the other guitarist play in sync. The bassist is a pixie, Hanamaki thinks. Kyoutani's boyfriend, or something. 

But Matsukawa. He stands on stage without a hint of awkwardness, perfectly comfortable even with so many eyes on him. He’s singing some song that has people grinning, with a few laughs, but Hanamaki doesn’t bother paying attention to the words. Just the tone of his voice, the way he dips and slides in between notes, unwavering. 

He’s drawn in. Perfectly, completely entranced. 

The band plays through a full set, and at the end, they announce that the bar will be open until three. Hanamaki watches them leave the stage. 

A decent amount of the crowd seems to file out of the bar, having only come for the show. Hanamaki watches them go, finishing his fourth glass. It’s been a while since he's indulged this much, but he knows he’s far from full. Luckily, there are a few cold bags of blood still in his fridge, ready for him to break into when he gets home. 

He’s feeling more than a little ravenous, tonight. 

Cold blood isn’t as good as fresh from the body, but it will have to do. 

Oikawa finds him at the bar, Iwaizumi having gone off to talk to Kyoutani on stage, as he packs up his drum kit. 

“Are you sure Matsu's an untouched?” He asks immediately. “I’ve known him since he was a teenager. I’ve never noticed anything weird.” 

“Maybe he wears some repellent,” Hanamaki says, shrugging. “There are charms that naturally repel our touch. If we go to touch him, we just stop and do something else. If he wears one constantly, and nobody knew he was an untouched, he could get away with it.” 

“God, the blood that must be in those veins,” Oikawa groans and leans against the counter. “What I’d give to try it.” 

“Dont let Iwaizumi hear you say something like that.” Hanamaki says. 

He watches Matsukawa come back out on stage, easily lifting and carrying equipment into the back room, probably through the door to a vehicle they have for bringing their stuff to shows. He watches his tattooed biceps flexing, carrying an amp like it’s nothing. 

“I know,” Oikawa says eventually, eyes on Hanamaki. “Gorgeous. If I wasn’t so attached to Hajime, I would have tackled him a long time ago.” 

“How old is he?” Hanamaki asks, just to be safe. 

“Twenty six, I think.” Oikawa orders a bottle of water from the bartender, and passes it Hanamaki's way. “Have fun.” 

Hanamaki gives him a look. 

“Bring it over to him,” Oikawa sighs. “He looks like he could use a drink. And so do you.” 

“I’m not going to go prey on some random untouched kid, Tooru,” He says, but takes the bottle anyways. It’s cool against his skin, unpleasant, but he carries it over, stepping up on the stage. He’s careful of any lingering equipment as he approaches Matsukawa, whose now talking with Kyoutani and Iwaizumi. Easy enough, since he already knows those two. 

“You look like you could use a drink,” Hanamaki says in way of greeting, holding out the bottle. “Why is it they’re having the mortal do all the heavy lifting?” 

Matsukawa gives him a once over, and smirks. He takes the bottle with a nod, and Hanamaki notices how his own fingers seem to automatically pull back of their own volition. “No ones making me do it,” he cracks open the cap and takes a long, pleased pull. Hanamaki watches his throat bob as he does. “Band mates all have to do equal work.” 

Hanamaki hums, and leans back against the wall. 

“Hanamaki Takahiro,” He says after a moment. “The unfortunate friend to that dramatic bat over there,” He nods Oikawa's way, whose watching them from the counter with a lecherous grin. 

“Matsukawa Issei,” He doesn’t seem inclined to shake Hanamaki's hand, and that just cements it. “Nice to meet you, Takahiro.” 

He stands here so calmly, despite being in the presence of so many inhuman beings. Vampires, werewolves, pixies. He doesn’t seem to mind. Yet here he is, untouched. 

“What’s someone like you doing here?” Hanamaki asks, not bothering to filter out the question. “How have you managed it?” 

Iwaizumi looks over from where he’s talking to Kyoutani, annoyed, but Matsukawa just gives a little laugh. 

“Ive been pretty careful, I suppose,” Matsukawa says. “Not gonna let just anybody taint my soul. Even if they’re...” he looks Hanamaki up and down again. “Pretty.” 

Hanamaki hums. Been a while since he’s been called that one. 

“But you’re not just anyone, are you.” Matsukawa steps close to him, and Hanamaki’s suddenly aware of all the places they could touch. He’s sure that if he needed to breathe, his lungs would be unable to right now. “Hanamaki Takahiro. You’re pretty famous in this community.” 

“Are my past deeds really still floating around?’” Hanamaki asks, though he lifts the corner of his mouth in a smile. “Its been almost a century.” 

“Lets just say I have some special knowledge.” Matsukawa says. “I never thought you’d look like this.” 

“Like an early two-thousands emo band groupy?” Hanamaki jokes, and Matsukawa chuckles, though there’s still tension in the air in between them. 

“I would like to pick your brain,” Matsukawa says. “Verbally, not physically, of course.” He dips his head. “Is there anywhere private we could talk?” 

Hanamaki is the one to move closer this time. Matsukawa doesn’t take a step back. 

Interesting. 

Not only interesting, but he knows who Hanamaki is. And it seems like he hasn’t told anybody.

“Are you asking to come back to my place?” He asks. “In private, where I could rip off that charm around your neck and end your sweet mortal life?” 

Matsukawa grins. “You don’t really seem the type.”

Against his better judgement, Hanamaki leads Matsukawa back to his apartment. 

It takes almost twenty minutes to get there, which is a bit irritating. But it’s not like Hanamaki can just pick Matsukawa up and run home, so he deals with it. 

“Sorry for the clutter,” Hanamaki says as he turns the key in the door. “Immortality tends to leave you with a lot of knick-knacks.” 

“I don’t mind knick-knacks.” Matsukawa follows him into the apartment, seemingly unfazed by the fact that he’s alone with someone like him. 

Hanamakis apartment is dark, as always. When he goes to flick on the lights for Matsukawa's benefit, he finds out the bulbs haven’t actually been changed since some time before Oikawa moved out. 

“I don’t really have a need for light,” Hanamaki says, feeling a little sheepish. “Stay here.”

Matsukawa hums, and Hanamaki kicks off his shoes. He finds a camping lamp in a closet, from the time Oikawa convinced him it would be fun to go camping with the Tokyo pack. Said time was the one Hanamaki ended up captured by hunters. He doesn’t know why he still has any of the camping stuff, but being able to be a good host is worth it. 

“Ill look for some light bulbs,” Hanamaki says as Matsukawa kicks off his shoes, able to see enough now to step further into the apartment. “I should have some around here.” 

“Its fine,” Matsukawa waves a hand. “I hang around the pack enough to be used to dim lights. Playing mostly night time shows helps, too.” 

Hanamaki just looks at him for a moment, before closing the closet door. 

“Would you like a drink?” Hanamaki asks instinctually, a little awkwardly. 

“What do you have?” Matsukawa smirks, and Hanamaki holds in a groan, realizing his own mistake. 

“Well, I have water, water, and, if you’re interested,” Hanamaki pulls open his fridge, revealing a few well-organized blood bags, “Some human juice.” 

Matsukawa snorts, coming to where Hanamaki's standing. “Im good, thanks.” He finally looks around the apartment. The kitchen and the living room make up one large room, only separated by the kitchen island. It doesn’t get much use, besides blood storage, but Hanamaki used to be a pretty decent cook, before he died. 

Theres a hallway leading to a bathroom, Hanamaki's study, and Oikawa's room. Hanamaki doesn’t understand why Oikawa’s ever bothered with owning a bed, since they don’t need to sleep, but he isn’t going to judge his friends choices. 

For the first time in a long time, Hanamaki thinks he might own too many books. They’re stacked everywhere. On the floor, on the bookshelf in the living room, on the coffee table. Not to mention the wall-to-wall bookshelves in his study. 

“How long have you lived here?” Matsukawa asks in interest. Hanamaki let’s the fridge fall shut. 

“Me and Oikawa bought the place maybe sixty years ago,” He says, and starts walking off towards the study. He hears Matsukawa’s steps close behind him. “Though it’s just been me here for fifteen years, now.” 

“When he and Iwaizumi met,” Matsukawa says, and Hanamaki grinds his teeth. 

“Yes,” He says. “When they met.” 

“Do you not like that they're together?” Matsukawa asks. “Because of the werewolf thing?” They step into the study, and Hanamaki turns to face Matsukawa, arms crossing over his chest. 

“I don’t care about the werewolf thing.” He spits out. “And I don’t care that they’re together. Iwaizumi makes Tooru happy.” 

“But?” Matsukawa's thick brows pull together. He’s watching Hanamaki, analysing him. It makes Hanamaki feel like he’s stripped bare, like a specimen to be studied. But when it’s Matsukawa, he doesn’t think he minds. 

“How well do you know Tooru?” 

“Decently well,” Matsukawa says, and walks towards the bookshelves to see what kind of selection Hanamaki has. “I’ve been a friend of the pack since my grandmother died and left me alone. Even though I’m human, they accepted me in and helped me out .” It sounds like Matsukawa’s going to get a little personal, and Hanamaki’s about to cut him off, but the human smiles. “Tooru’s always brought a little bit more life into the pack, funny enough.” 

Matsukawa drags a long finger across the spine of one of Hanamaki’s favourite books, well worn from a century of being reread. 

“He’s very kind, compared to some downworlders.” 

“He is,” Hanamaki says. “He’s a kind person.” He walks over to his desk to give himself something to do. “Too kind.” 

“How can anybody be too kind?” 

“Tooru’s fragile, for one of us.” Hanamaki says. “I can’t tell you how, it’s between us, but he's delicate in some ways that the rest of us aren’t. I’m just worried that being around the wolves so much might... Bring out things in him that he isnt ready to handle.” 

Matsukawa watches him, thinking, and Hanamaki forces the tight expression he’s making to morph into something more relaxed. “You said you wanted to pick my brain,” He says. “I know you know who I am. Who else does?” 

“That’s you picking my brain,” Matsukawa abandons the bookshelf and comes closer. “The opposite way around.” 

“Fine,” Hanamaki sighs. “Ask your questions.” 

Matsukawa grins, taking another step. There’s tension in the air, palpable. He’s sure Hanamaki could bite into it if he tried hard enough. 

“I only really have one question, Hanamaki Takahiro,” Matsukawa says, and leans against the desk. “If I were to take off my charm right now, what would you do?” 

Hanamaki inhales, and it’s a little shaky. 

“That’s the question?” He asks. 

“There’s a few more, but they can wait for another time.” Matsukawa’s eyeing him with fire in those brown eyes. “I’m just curious. Would you maul me and suck me dry? Or would you perhaps act on a different urge?” 

Hanamaki knows he means sex, and he has to stop himself from recoiling. 

Drinking blood. That’s something he’s accepted over the last hundred and fifty years. But his attraction to men, especially of the more muscular type. That’s something he still struggles with. 

But he feigns indifference. 

“Would you like to find out?” 

They're only separated by the desk, a few slabs of wood that could easily be cast aside for Hanamaki to attack Matsukawa’s throat, to take in that red, hot drink. But now that it’s been put on the table, he’s thinking about what else he’d like to do to Matsukawa. Or, perhaps, what he'd like Matsukawa to do to him. 

“What’s the point on lasting so long untouched if I can’t have a little fun with it?” Matsukawa says, and smirks. He raises a hand, running a finger along the vein in his neck that draws the most of Hanamaki’s attention. “I hear my blood is more potent than a normal mortal. I could keep one of you alive for a year if you were to drain me. Is that true?” 

Hanamaki swallows, and nods. He presses his hands against the hard wood of the table, his mouth running dry. 

He's so thirsty. For more than blood, at this point. For whatever Matsukawa wants to offer him. 

“I’m willing to share,” Matsukawa says. “For a little something in return.” 

Hanamaki meets Matsukawa's gaze, and realizes his own eyes must be flashing red, from the look Matsukawa gives him. A little shocked, if not impressed. 

“And that is?” 

Matsukawa comes around the desk, slinking closer, and Hanamaki fights the urge to dive in and go right for the throat, not knowing what that charm would do to him, and not wanting to find out. 

“Let me fuck you,” Matsukawa says. “You’re gorgeous, and I'd love to hear what you sound like with my cock buried in you.” 

Hanamaki's fangs pop, unable to hold them in. 

He swears, and lifts a hand to cover his mouth. 

Matsukawa gives a little laugh, and Hanamaki glares at him. 

“Fuck off,” Hanamaki says, turning from him. “It’s not fucking funny.” 

“It definitely is,” Matsukawa comes close. “I wanna see. How big are they?” 

Hanamaki keeps his mouth closed, not letting Matsukawa see. He hates showing his fangs. That’s why he only likes to eat alone, in his home. He doesn’t say anything more, and Matsukawa just watches him, his expression slowly dropping. 

“Are you... Afraid to let me see them?” He asks after a moment. “I’m not going to freak out, or anything.” 

“Shut up,” Hanamaki says, muffled by his goddamn fangs. “You couldn’t understand.” 

“You’re right,” He says. “I don’t.” There’s silence for a few moments, and then the sound of rustling. 

Something metal hits the surface of the desk. 

Hanamaki turns, hand still over his mouth, and sees a silver cross charm resting on the desk. 

He took it off. 

Hanamaki meets Matsukawa's eyes. He looks unfazed. 

“Why would you do that?” He growls out. 

“You feel vulnerable with them showing, right?” Matsukawa says, and nods to the charm. “I guess this makes us even?” 

Matsukawa steps closer again, raising a hand. Before he can touch Hanamaki’s arm, Hanamaki steps back. He ends up across the room before he even realized he started running. 

“Don’t,” He says. “Don’t taint yourself for me.” 

“Do you think I actually care?” Matsukawa asks with a little laugh, though he’s completely serious. He comes a bit closer again, careful. As if approaching a wounded animal. It’s a game of cat and mouse, and their roles on the food chain seem to have been reversed. 

“The only reason I wear that damn charm is because my grandmother said it would protect me from downworlders. But I don’t care about any of that. Being untouched, or whatever, doesn’t mean shit to me.” He takes another step, and Hanamaki considers running out of the room, out of the apartment. “What matters to me is doing what I want. And right now, I want you, Takahiro.” 

The casual use of his given name definitely doesn’t send a shiver down his spine. 

“You want me to bite you?” Hanamaki asks. “You want-“ 

“I wouldn’t offer it if I didn’t want it,” Matsukawa says. “I want to fuck you, and I know you’re interested.” He’s noticed Hanamaki's looks, then. “But I know that, once I let you touch me, my blood will start to lose its strength, won’t it? Within a few days, the blood in my veins will be the same as every other tainted mortal.” He comes closer again. “I might as well have some fun with it while I can. Might as well get a good fuck out of it.” 

Hanamaki watches him approach, though he still doesn’t let Matsukawa touch him. He drops his hand from his mouth. 

“Is that all?” Hanamaki asks. “You just want to use your advantage to have a little fun?” 

Matsukawa nods. “Though, I'd probably let you have at it even if I didn’t get anything out of it,” Matsukawa looks him up and down. “Have you seen yourself?” 

Hanamaki scowls, and Matsukawa laughs. “Right. Vampires, mirrors. Sorry.” 

They stand there like that for a few moments, just watching each other, both deciding if this is going to happen or not. There’s maybe a foot in between their bodies, until Hanamaki slinks a bit closer, just enough that he can feel Matsukawa’s breath on his face. 

“If you want me,” He says. “You have to make the first move. I’m not going to take that away from you.” 

Matsukawa grins. “’Course.” 

He reaches forward, and Hanamaki stand stock still, watching Matsukawa’s hand. It reaches for his own, oddly enough. 

When their skin touches, the warmth is shocking. Matsukawa entwines their fingers, raises Hanamaki’s arm, and presses a kiss to Hanamaki's wrist, right where his pulse would be, if he had one. 

He exhales sharply. That’s the touch, the one that taints Matsukawa Issei. 

Fuck. 

He can’t remember the last time any human has touched him, especially so gently, with a soft press of lips to his pale skin. 

Matsukawa pulls back, his expression tender, If not also a little hungry. Though there’s no way he’s hungry in the way Hanamaki is. 

“Do you have a bedroom?” Matsukawa asks. “I’m all for doing it on a desk, but beds are infinitely better.” 

Hanamaki nods to the door. “Oikawa’s room is across the hall. The bed is practically brand new.” 

Hanamaki follows behind Matsukawa to the door, and across the hall. They don’t bother with the light in here, since the light from the uncovered window provides them with enough visibility. 

“We need a safe word,” Hanamaki says, serious. “If I'm to bite you, you need to be able to tell me to stop.” 

Matsukawa plops down on the edge of the bed. 

“How about 'stop'?” He suggests with a grin, and Hanamaki snorts. Not the worst safe word he’s heard. 

“Sure.” He comes closer, a little more comfortable now that he’s been able to retract his fangs. He doesn’t want them getting in the way until he needs them, not to mention the embarrassment of having them at all. 

He comes to stand in between Matsukawa’s legs, and those large hands raise to rest on his hips. He freezes for a moment, just staring down at Matsukawa, before letting his own hands rest on Matsukawa’s shoulders. 

“Is it fine if I kiss you?” Hanamaki asks, and Matsukawa smiles. 

“Go right ahead, Takahiro.” 

Hanamaki frowns for a moment, but dips forward. He pauses for a moment, hesitating, but one of Matsukawa’s hands come up, and press to the back of his neck, pulling him in. 

The second their lips touch, Hanamaki is set ablaze. The warmth of Matsukawa’s mouth against his own, the hands at his neck and waist, they leave him hungry for more. For so much more than just a drink. 

He lets Matsukawa take control of the kiss, letting himself get completely swept up in it. Matsukawa’s fingers tangle in the hair at the back of his head, gentle but firm, holding him in place. There’s a sweep of a wet tongue to his lower lip, and Hanamaki groans, opening his mouth and meeting Matsukawa’s tongue with his own. 

The kiss is soft, gentle, but there’s an underlying hunger to it from both ends, almost desperation. 

Hanamaki let’s himself drag a hand down to Matsukawa’s chest, let’s himself feel the beating heart that’s pumping blood through Matsukawa’s body. He groans at the thought of being able to get a taste, no matter how small. 

The blood he managed to take in at the club is already rushing to his cock at the thought, though he’s not the only one getting hard. 

He can feel Matsukawa’s against his thigh, letting Hanamaki know just how much he’s enjoying this, the newness of having a vampire – a downworlder – in his lap. 

Hanamaki pulls back from the kiss, his lips red and swollen, and grinds down against Matsukawa's lap, revelling in the soft groan that earns him. 

“I’d say I want you to mark me,” Hanamaki says, a little breathless. “But I’d rather you didn’t. If you bite me and take in any blood from my system, you could end up turning, and you don’t want to have to deal with that.” 

Matsukawa nods, probably having not known that’s how turning works. 

“You’ll be the only one getting a taste of any blood, then.” Matsukawa says, and Hanamaki snorts. 

“Thats not very new.” 

Hanamaki dips back in for another kiss, though Matsukawa gets to his feet, his hands grabbing Hanamaki by the thighs and hoisting him up. He turns, and plops Hanamaki back down on the bed. 

“If you don’t mind,” Matsukawa says, grinning and standing back up, starting at the buttons of his shirt. “I like to be in charge.” 

Hanamaki grins back, and let’s his legs fall open. “And if you don’t mind,” He says. “I’m a bit of a pillow princess.” 

Matsukawas eyes practically sparkle, as if he’s hit the jackpot. 

He lets his shirt fall from his shoulders, and Hanamaki practically groans at the sight of that olive toned, ripped torso, not a scar or blemish in sight. Just pure, god forsaken muscles. 

Matsukawa undoes his belt and slides it free of his jeans, popping the button and undoing the zipper. But he leaves it at that for now, coming forward and kneeling in between Hanamaki’s spread legs. His hands start at Hanamaki’s ankles and trail up over the fake-leather covered thighs. 

“I might have to rip these off you,” He says. “they’re so tight.” 

“Have at it,” Hanamaki laughs. “They’re Oikawa’s, but I don’t think he remembers they exist.” 

Matsukawa hums, and leans in for another kiss. Hanamaki rips off his jacket and starts working at the buttons of his shirt, getting down to his tank in seconds. Matsukawa hums his approval as more pale flesh is revealed, as if he could find Hanamaki’s body anything other than revolting. He’s dead. He may not be rotting, but he’s not living, either. 

“Gorgeous,” Matsukawa murmurs, and Hanamaki scoffs. 

“You some sort of necro?” He asks, and Matsukawa raises a brow his way. 

“You’re not dead, Takahiro,” Matsukawa tells him. “You’re just living an unconventional life.” 

“Sure, whatever you say,” Hanamaki says. “Get down here and kiss me.” 

Matsukawa eyes him for a second, but gives in. Their lips only touch again for a moment, though, before he's dragging his mouth down past Hanamaki's jaw, tugging his head back to bear his neck. He kisses at Hanamaki's pulse-less throat, down over his collarbone. 

“Shirt off.” Matsukawa murmurs, and Hanamaki is quick to comply, tossing it over his head and somewhere across the room. 

Matsukawa murmurs a low curse, his eyes trailing down Hanamaki's chest and flat stomach, clearly seeing something he likes. 

“You can touch, you know,” Hanamaki says. “I’m not going to crumble to dust if you get a little rough.” 

“So you like it that way?” Matsukawa asks. “Rough?” 

Hanamaki hums. “I like cock in my ass and blood in my mouth. I don’t care how rough you want to be. If you happen to break a bone, I’ll heal quick enough.” 

Matsukawa snorts, though there’s a bit of a blush that coats his cheeks. “Fortunately, I don’t plan on being rough enough for that.” 

Hananaki smirks. “That’s unfortunate.” 

Matsukawa reaches back and pulls something out of his pocket. Hanamaki recognizes it as a packet of lubricant. 

“You got condoms stashed back there too?” Hanamaki asks, digging his toes into the meat of Matsukawa’s thick thigh. “I don’t care either way.” 

“I brought one, but if you don’t care,” He finally works his way out of his pants, revealing legs just as dark as the rest of his body. So far, not a tan line in sight. “Then I definitely don’t mind.” 

Hanamaki smiles. 

“Get my pants off me,” Hanamaki demands. “You have no idea how annoying it is being hard in these things.” 

Matsukawa snorts, and comes forward, tucking his fingers beneath the waistband. 

Its a bit of a struggle tugging them down his legs, but it’s completely worth it to reveal the bareness of his body underneath. The completely lack of underwear, and his smooth pale legs. 

Matsukawa groans at the sight. “Fuck, you’re amazing.” 

“Oh yes, dirty talk me more,” Hanamaki teases. “It really gets me going.” 

“Shut up,” Matsukawa dips down and continues where he left off, kissing at Hanamaki's collarbone, working his way down his pale chest. “I’m enjoying myself.” 

“You better be.” Hanamaki let’s out a little hitched break when Matsukawa’s hand appears at his thigh again, thumb pressing into the sensitive skin along the inside of his leg. At the same time, he runs his tongue over a perky nipple, and Hanamaki let’s his head drop back. 

He feels Matsukawa smirk against his chest. 

“Sensitive?” 

“Its been a while,” Hanamaki admits. “Sue me.” 

“I like it.” Matsukawa says. “Makes things more fun.” 

Hanamaki watches as Matsukawa kisses down his chest, down his stomach. He doesn’t realize what’s about to happen until Matsukawa presses a wet kiss to the head of his cock. He wraps a hand around the base, meets Hanamaki’s eyes head on, and sinks down. 

Hanamakis thighs shake, and he has to grip the sheets tight underneath him. 

“Fuck- Matsukawa,” He groans as Matsukawa sinks down over him, his mouth wet and hot and so hot. He takes Hanamaki down like it’s nothing, moaning around him and sending vibrations wracking through Hanamaki’s body. 

He pulls back, jerking Hanamaki slowly. “Call me Issei,” He says, and Hanamaki barely manages a nod. 

He sinks back down, and Hanamaki can’t help it. He whines, reaching out and burying his hand in those dark curls, trying to keep from bucking his hips up into Matsukawa’s mouth. Hanamaki may be able to deep throat without worrying about needing to breath, but Matsukawa’s a human. He doesn’t want to choke him. 

But Matsukawa just hums around him, as if he enjoys it, encouraging Hanamaki to pull tighter. 

He suckles at Hanamaki's cock, and runs his tongue along a thick vein. Hanamaki moans, tilting his head back, knowing Matsukawa’s eyes are on him all the while. 

He doesn’t notice the packet of lube being ripped open, but he does notice the cool, wet fingers in between his thighs, the pad of one swiping over his entrance. Hanamaki moans, and let’s his legs fall open wider. 

Matsukawa pulls off his cock, gives a lap at it with his tongue. “So good, 'Hiro.” 

Hanamaki holds in the groan, the one the praise tries to draw from him. 

Before he can retort, a finger pushes inside him, and Matsukawa sinks back down over his cock. His back arches, a moan ripping from his dead lungs. Matsukawa’s free hand grips his hip, holding him in place as he takes Hanamaki deep into his mouth, to the back of his throat, his index finger working deep inside him to relax his muscles. 

He's clearly practiced, and Hanamaki isn’t sure why that turns Hanamaki on so much. 

“I can take more than that,” He forces out, meeting Matsukawa’s eyes. He hums around his cock, pulling his finger back out almost all the way, just to add a second. 

He works Hanamaki with his fingers for a few minutes, drawing out whines and moans, occasionally letting out his own little bit of praise. Soon, a deep warmth settles in his stomach, and he rugs at Matsukawa’s hair until he pops off his cock. 

“I’m good,” he says, breathing heavily. “I’m close.” 

Matsukawa laps at the head a few more times, his lips flushed pink. “But I was just starting to have fun.” 

Hanamaki tugs at his hair harder. 

“Get up here and fuck me, if you plan on doing it at all,” he says, his own little way of confirming that Matsukawa still wants to do this. 

Matsukawa pulls his fingers free, and Hanamaki shivers at the emptiness. 

“What position is easiest for you?” Matsukawa asks. “For you to bite, I mean.” 

“Depends,” He grabs Matsukawa’s hand, and pulls his wrist close to his lips. Matsukawa’s breath hitches, but Hanamaki just presses a kiss to his pulse point. “I could bite you here,” he says. “Or your throat. Your choice.” 

Matsukawa doesn’t look scared. If anything, he’s more aroused than before. He kneels over Hanamaki, looking for all the world like he’s been given a gift. 

“I’m not against being bitten more than once, if you want. I’ll do whatever you want.” 

Hanamaki smirks. “Seems like you’re the one whose needy, here.” 

“Maybe were both a little needy.” 

“When I bite you,” Hanamaki says. “There will be a bit of a high from my venom. It can’t turn you, but it’s supposed to make it more enjoyable. If it's too much, tell me to stop.” 

Matsukawa presses a kiss to Hanamaki’s jaw. “I trust you.” 

Hanamaki snorts. “You really shouldn’t. We just met an hour ago.” 

“I don’t care.” The words come off more tender than they should, and Hanamaki pretends it doesn’t make him shiver a bit. 

“Get your cock out and fuck me, then.”  
Matsukawa sits back to finally slide out of the rest of his clothes, and Hanamaki gets to his knees too, turning his back to Matsukawa. He doesn’t lean forward, but spreads his legs wide, and straddles Matsukawa from behind. 

Hanamaki knows what he’s doing. The groan Matsukawa let’s out is proof enough. 

Matsukawa’s cock is large enough to satisfy, around the same length as Hanamaki’s, but thicker. It’s been maybe a decade since he’s had anything more than his own fingers, but he’s met only with anticipation as he leans back against Matsukawa’s chest, holding his cock and place and slowly sliding down. 

They groan in unison, Matsukawa gripping Hanamaki's hips tight as they press together. 

“Fuck- Issei,” Hanamaki moans, rocking his head back against Matsukawa’s shoulder as the flesh of his ass comes into contact with Matsukawa’s thighs. He rolls his hips, chasing after that sweet sensation of the thick cock inside him. 

He turns his head just enough to press his lips to the corner of Matsukawa’s mouth, and groans when a hand digs nails into his skin. 

“Come on, Issei,” He whispers. “Fuck me good.” 

Matsukawa groans, and grips Hanamaki’s hips tighter, pulling him up only to slam him back down, their hips meeting hard and fast as Matsukawa pounds into him from behind. Hanamaki let’s himself take it, let himself be fucked into without having to do any of the work. Only when he remembers Matsukawa’s blood, slowly losing potency in his veins, does Hanamaki reach down and take one of Matsukawa’s hands in his own, lifting it to his mouth. 

He presses a kiss to Matsukawa’s palm, to the tips of each of his fingers. He feels Matsukawa watching him, feels his cock twitch inside him as Hanamaki peaks his tongue out to run along the vein in his wrist. He pulls back, turns his head to look Matsukawa in the eye as his fangs break free. 

Matsukawa groans, burying his face into Hanamaki’s shoulder, his hips stuttering. 

“Talk to me Issei,” Hanamaki demands, and let’s out a little keen at a particularly hard thrust. He runs the tip of a fang over the vein, his body thrumming at the promise of that sweet, sweet blood. 

“You’re so good, 'Hiro,” Matsukawa groans, grinding against Hanamaki almost desperately. “fucking tight. Goddamnit. So good. Fucking- God fucking bite me already.” 

His voice borders at the edge of a whine at the end, and Hanamaki thinks this is a new kink for him to explore. He hums, presses the tips of his fangs against that throbbing vein. 

He bites, and Matsukawa goes still. 

Hanamaki doesn’t notice for a moment, too distracted by the hot, deliciously potent blood running over his tongue, filling his mouth. He laps at the punctures, sucking as much as he dares. He notices Matsukawa’s stopped moving, and is about to pull back just as there’s a deep, echoing groan. Matsukawa’s hips pump into him once, twice, and then he’s cumming, deep inside Hanamaki. 

“Fuck-“ Matsukawa moans against Hanamaki’s shoulder. “Fuck, shit, Fuck fuck- 'Hiro-“ 

Hanamaki keens, licking at the wound, his saliva already healing the two pinprick holes. He licks at the last of the blood dripping down Matsukawa’s arm as Matsukawa works through his orgasm, murmuring praise into Hanamaki’s neck. 

Hanamaki presses a final kiss to Matsukawa’s wrist, and pulls off his cock. 

He turns, and catches Matsukawa as he slumps forward. He looks a little out of it. Not unconscious, but the venom running through his veins must really be doing a number on him. He leans back against the pillows, and has Matsukawa rest against his chest. He buries his fingers in Matsukawa’s hair, not caring about the cum leaking from his ass. 

“So good, Issei,” he praises, feeling soft and warm from the blood. He’d only taken a few swallows, barely enough to fill a glass, but it’s warming up his insides. Enough that he can feel a flush burning across his cheeks. “So good.” 

Hanamaki finds himself pressing his face into the top of Matsukawa’s head, wrapping an arm around his waist and just holding him close. It’s been years, but Hanamaki thinks he could fall asleep, like this. 

But then Matsukawa stirs, lifting his head. 

“Sorry, i- uh,” He looks embarrassed, his high cheeks flushed a deep red. “I didn’t mean to- I don’t usually cum so fast.” 

He sits up, and Hanamaki follows him, grinning at the sight of him so flustered. “You, my friend,” He leans in quick. “Have a bit of a fetish.” He presses a kiss to Matsukawa’s cheek, not realizing his fangs are still out until he pulls back. 

He instinctually reaches a hand up to cover his face, but Matsukawa grabs it, stopping him. He leans in, presses their lips together in another kiss, careful of the sharp fangs. 

“Lay back,” Matsukawa says. “Let me take care of you.” 

Hanamaki waves it off. “Its fine,” He says. “The blood was more than enough for me.” 

Matsukawa pushes him back, which he wouldn’t have been able to do if Hanamaki wasn’t caught off guard. 

“I never leave a partner without an orgasm,” Matsukawa says. “So tell me what you want, and I'll give it to you.” 

Hanamaki groans at the feelings of a hand running down his side, fingertips dragging against his hip, and then over the head of his cock. 

“Just-“ Hanamaki groans. “Just this.” 

Matsukawa nods, leaning forward to press a kiss to the underside of Hanamaki’s jaw. 

“You can bite me again, if you want,” He offers. “Sorry, I made you cut it short before.” 

Hanamaki gasps when Matsukawa’s thumb presses into his slit, tilting his head back. 

“Fuck- you don’t have to- I’m fine without-“ 

“I aim to satisfy,” Matsukawa murmurs. “Besides,” He meets Hanamaki’s eyes. “I liked it.” 

Hanamaki whines. 

“Shit- fuck- i- yeah sure.” Matsukawa gives a chuckle, grabs onto Hanamaki's thighs and pulls him into his lap, manoeuvring him like he’s some sort of doll. It’s incredibly hot, the strength in this mortal man’s body. 

He grabs Matsukawa by the hair at the back of his head and pulls him in for a kiss, moaning into his mouth as Matsukawa pulls at his cock. He bucks his hips, fucking into Matsukawa’s hand. He's sure Matsukawa can taste his own blood on Hanamaki's tongue, but he doesn’t seem to mind. 

Hanamaki pulls back, keening, and scatters a few stray kisses along Matsukawa's cheek and jaw. Matsukawa tilts his head to the side without having to be prompted, and that sends little pleasant shudders down Hanamaki's spine. 

He kisses the underside of Matsukawa’s jaw, rolling his hips into Matsukawa’s fist, letting out high little keening sounds as Matsukawa works him over. He tongues over the vein he can feel running down the side of Matsukawa’s neck, the one he just wants to sink into. He wraps an arm around Matsukawa’s shoulders, his legs shaking. 

“Tell me when to stop,” He murmurs, mouthing along the soft flesh there. “Otherwise I might not-“ 

“I trust you.” Matsukawa reminds, and Hanamaki whimpers. 

Then he bites down, sinking his fangs deep into smooth, unblemished skin. 

The moan Matsukawa let’s out is enough to make him go feral, sucking and lapping at the wounds and drawing out mouth full after mouth full of hot, wonderful blood. He doesn’t care about making a mess as he gulps it down, letting it trail down his chin and neck in thin streams. 

All the while, Matsukawa grips tight at his cock, working him in his hand and moaning beautifully in his ears. He sounds like he could get off just from this, and the thought of that alone is enough to send him over the edge. 

Hanamaki shakes as he cums, face buried against Matsukawa’s throat, filling himself up with warmth as he empties his cock in between their stomachs. Matsukawa doesn’t have to tell him to stop. He pulls back with a few more laps at Matsukawa’s skin to begin the healing process, bringing a hand up to swipe at the remains dripping down his chin. 

Matsukawa grabs his hand, looking dazed, but more aware than before. 

“I got it,” he murmurs, and Hanamaki watches with rapt interest as Matsukawa gathers the stream of his own blood with a finger, and holds it up to Hanamaki’s lips. 

Matsukawa’s feeding Hanamaki his blood. 

Gods above, this mortal- this person, truly is interesting. 

Hanamaki suck the blood from Matsukawa’s finger, dragging his fang along the skin just enough to cause him to shudder. 

“Was that good?” Hanamaki asks, pulling back. 

Matsukawa snorts. “I should be the one asking you that.” 

Hanamaki slides out of Matsukawa’s lap, and leans back against the pillow. They’re both covered in sweat and cum and a little bit of blood, but neither of them seem to care. Matsukawa just watches Hanamaki relax against the pillow, his naturally tired-looking eyes drooping and dazed. 

He gets up and out of bed, though, looking for his clothes scattered among the floor. Hanamaki sits up, just as Matsukawa starts slipping back into his boxers. 

“You can stay,” He says. “If you want.” There’s enough blood in his system that the embarrassment shows in his cheeks. “its not good to be alone after losing so much blood. If you stay you can use my shower, and I can make-“ 

“I’ll stay,” Matsukawa smiles at him, genuine, soft. “I just didn’t think you’d want me to.” 

Hanamaki huffs, and fakes an air of uncaring. “I’m fine either way,” He says, though he doesn’t really know what he would have done if Matsukawa had left. 

“You can sleep,” He tells Matsukawa. “I don’t need to sleep, but I can if you want to together.” 

Matsukawa climbs back into bed. “Oh, how romantic.” 

Hanamaki scowls. “If you don’t want to I’ll just go shower-“ He moves to get up, but Matsukawa wraps his arms around Hanamaki’s waist, pulling him close. 

“Stay,” Matsukawa says, and presses a kiss to his cheek. “Spending the night sleeping with a cute vampire next to me sounds like the best night I’ve had in a while.” 

Hanamaki gives in, and let’s Matsukawa pull Hanami under the blankets, curling up side by side, their legs tangled together. Matsukawa falls asleep within minutes, but Hanamaki lays there in the dark, just listening to his breathing and his calm, comfortable heartbeat. 

Cute vampire.


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, being honest is like ripping off a bandaid. 
> 
> But other times, it's more like pulling out stitches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder if you see my insecurities
> 
> I try to hide behind
> 
> I couldn't keep my cool, don't think I had you fooled
> 
> Darling do you mind? 
> 
> Cause' it feels so frightening
> 
> My chest starts tightening
> 
> Hits me like a bolt of lightening
> 
> No, I've tried, I can't fight it off
> 
> I've started shaking
> 
> With every move I'm making
> 
> And every breath I'm taking
> 
> And now I'm breaking down in your arms

Hanamaki didn’t think he’d even be able to sleep anymore, after so many years. But apparently he was wrong, since he wakes up a few hours later, engulfed in the arms of a large, warm body. 

He cracks his eyes open, and finds Matsukawa fast asleep, his soft breaths causing the hair falling against Hanamaki’s forehead to blow back and forth a little bit. 

He’s pretty, Hanamaki decides. Not just hot, but pretty. He’s not sure just one night with him will be enough. 

That thought has Hanamaki sitting up, untangling his limbs from Matsukawa’s. He can’t start thinking like that. Matsukawa just wanted to lose his downworlder virginity, and Hanamaki was lucky enough to get some good blood out of it. Now he has to move on, clean up and make sure Matsukawa is healthy enough to go on his way when he wakes up. 

Hanamaki takes the quickest shower he’s ever had, washing away the remains of the night. He runs to the store for some ingredients for a meal, a real meal, and is back within minutes. He gets to cooking, high carbs, high protein, high sugar. He even picked up an energy drink he thinks will help Matsukawa’s body restore the lost blood more quickly. 

He's finishing up the meal when he hears the bedroom door open and close. He looks over and finds Matsukawa coming down the hall, rubbing at tired eyes. 

“What’re you doing?” He asks. 

Hanamaki notices the bruises forming on Matsukawa’s neck and wrist, and his chest constricts painfully. 

“Making you breakfast,” He says. “To heal properly after a bite, you need to eat properly. Sugar, carbs, protein. They’re all important right now.” He gestures with the spatula as he cooks. Matsukawa leans against the wall behind him, and he turns to look at him, a tired smile on the man’s face. 

“That’s really nice of you, 'Hiro.” Matsukawa says, and the pain in his heart grows tighter. 

“I can’t let you go home half-drained,” he says. “What kind of vampire would I be? Certainly not one who cares about the health of my partners.” 

“Partners,” Matsukawa smiles at him. “Not victims.” Hanamaki nods. “You’re a strange one, Takahiro.” 

Hanamaki shoots him a look. “And you, Issei, have a vampire fetish. We're both weird.” 

“I don’t have a vampire fetish,” Matsukawa says as Hanamaki serves up the meal on a plate. “Maybe a Takahiro fetish though.”

Hanamaki turns around, frowning. He holds out the plate to Matsukawa, who takes it just to set it down on the counter. 

“You’re looking pink,” Matsukawa says, coming close. He taps a finger to the back of Hanamaki’s neck. “Is that from my blood?” 

Hanamaki just nods, and Matsukawa stands there silently for a moment. 

“Did I do something wrong?” He asks after a moment. “Did I say something or-“ 

Hanamaki turns back to face him. “No,” he says. “You didn’t. It’s just-“ 

He takes a step away from Matsukawa, who doesn’t follow him. 

“There are things about me that I can’t- parts of my life I’m not comfortable talking about. And I enjoyed last night but-“ Hanamaki clenches his fists at his sides, not sure how to go about this. 

“You don’t think we should do it again.” Matsukawa says for him. 

Hanamaki's unable to meet his gaze, just nods. “Yeah.” 

“That’s okay,” Matsukawa says after a moment, picking the plate up off the counter and taking the chop sticks in hand. “I’ll eat this and be out of your way. I should be fine to get home, since the sun should be up soon.” 

Hanamaki just nods. “I’ll leave you to eat, then.” Hanamaki leaves the room and heads to Oikawa's room, gathering the blankets and folding them up to be washed later. He finds Matsukawa’s clothes and folds them, putting them in a bag for Matsukawa to take when he leaves. He finds a pair of clean track pants and a sweater that should fit, and leaves them on the kitchen table, not looking at Matsukawa as he does. 

Then he sits in the bedroom, and waits until he hears the door shut. 

Only then does he let it hit him. 

“You fucked Mattsun?” Oikawa’s voice rings in his ears a few hours later. “I thought you were just going to feed!” 

“I didn’t fuck Issei,” Hanamaki growls out, sitting in the silence of his kitchen after cleaning up the mess from cooking. “I just-“

“He fucked you?” Oikawa cuts him off. He doesn’t respond, and Oikawa takes that for an answer. “Hiro-“ 

“I know, it was stupid. I shouldn’t have-“ 

“I’m so proud!” Oikawa practically screams in his ears. “Fuck yeah Hiro, get some!” 

“Tooru-“ 

“Stop cutting me off, Takahiro,” Oikawa cuts him off. “Whens the last time you slept with anyone? Was it that cute girl in Paris?” 

“Marisse,” Hanamaki says. “I never went all the way with her. I couldn’t.”

“This is big, Hiro. I know you’ve always had a hard time with-“ 

“I’m not doing this right now, Tooru.” Hanamaki doesn’t let him continue. “I said something i shouldn’t have after I made him breakfast. I told him I didn’t want to let him in on my life and he seemed... I don’t know. I can’t read mortal people like you can.” 

“You want me to talk to him?” 

“I don’t know,” Hanamaki says. “I just- I feel like such a dick. I didn’t mean to act cold towards him. But he was flirting and he got touchy and after everything I just couldn't-“ 

“Its fine, 'Hiro,” Oikawa says. “Come by Iwa's place later. He and a few pack members will be over, so you can talk to him then. I'll see what I can do.” 

Hanamaki swallows. 

“Okay.” He whispers, and hangs up. 

Hanamaki wanders towards the study, hoping to get a few hours of reading done before heading over there tonight. He stops though, when his eyes pick up the glint of metal sitting on his desk. 

Matsukawa’s cross, abandoned like the purity it had preserved. They’d both forgotten it. 

He walks over, staring down at it, at the thin chain and the delicate carvings along the cross itself. It’s maybe fifty, sixty years old. Nowhere near as old as half the things in this room. But the charms placed on it are a whole other thing together. 

Hanamaki reaches for it, pauses. 

Then he picks it up by the chain. It burns the skin of his hand. 

He winces, and hisses, his fangs popping and his eyes flashing red. He drops the chain, and it lands on the ground. He kneels, staring at his fingers, tinged red. Almost alive looking. 

He picks it up again, by the cross itself, holding it clenched in his palm. He doesn’t drop it this time, just let’s it burn him as he slips it in his pocket. 

He shows up at Iwaizumis place later, as promised, just after sunset. He would have gone sooner, but he wasn’t exactly in the mood to get a sunburn.

The run to the complex Iwaizumi's pack owns is faster than he recalls, though maybe it’s because of how full he is from last night, how much energy Matsukawa had shared with him. It’s been a more than a few decades since he’s indulged so much. He wonders if he looks alive, now. 

Iwaizumi’s apartment is on the top floor, one of the few with a balcony. Hanamaki would have expected him to pick one of the larger apartments, but his is only a one bedroom. He says he leaves the larger ones to the few members of the pack who plan on having kids in the future. He doesn’t need the space, with just him and Oikawa. 

Hanamaki knocks at the door, easily picking up the scent of wolves inside. Oikawa’s there too, as is the now familiar scent of Matsukawa. 

He's the one to pull it open, his eyes falling on Hanamaki. If he’s surprised to see him, he doesn’t show it. 

“Hey,” Matsukawa says, though the warmth in his voice from last night is gone. “Tooru said you were coming for dinner. Don’t know what that’s supposed to mean, since you don’t eat.” 

Hanamaki huffs, gesturing towards the inside of the apartment. Matsukawa steps out of the way of the door, letting him come inside. It shuts tightly behind him. 

“I wanted to talk to you,” Hanamaki says. “About everything. I mean-“ 

“You regret it, I know.” Matsukawa says. Iwaizumi and the wolves are in the other room, not quite close enough to hear if they talk quietly. “I don’t hate you for it.” 

The bruises blooming along Matsukawa’s neck and wrist make Hanamaki swallow. 

“I don’t,” He says, and fumbles around his words. “I just- like everybody else, I have a past. It’s hard for me to talk about it, but I don’t regret last night. I only regret what I said to you, or didn’t say, this morning.” 

Matsukawa seems at lost for words for a moment, but then he smiles, his eyes softening. 

“Good,” He comes a little closer. He raises a hand, and Hanamaki flinches back. But Matsukawa just carefully reaches out and tucks a finger under Hanamaki’s chin. He pretends neither of them notice the shiver he lets out. “i won’t make you talk about it, if you don’t want to. But if you do, I’m open to do so. Until then,” He pulls back. “I’m sure we can be civil around each other, right?” 

Hanamaki exhales roughly. Civil. 

“Sure,” He says.

He follows Matsukawa further into the apartment, into the living room where a few members of the pack seem to be gathered. Iwaizumi sits in a comfortable looking armchair in the corner, Oikawa lounging in his lap like it’s a throne, and he’s the king. He looks sleepy, though. Sated. Like he and Iwaizumi have been having some fun. 

The fading bruises under Iwaizumi’s jaw tell him he’s right. They may only be an hour old, but with his wolf healing, it’s hard to tell. Kyoutani is there, on the couch, his pixie lover sitting in between his legs at his feet. He’s leaning back, looking up at Kyoutani with an expression Hanamaki can’t quite place. There are a few other wolves there, but he doesn’t recognize any of them. 

He hasn’t been here in almost a decade, so it’s not his fault. 

“Makki!” Oikawa calls out upon his arrival. “When you said you and Matsu spent the night together, I thought you would have left less bruising!” His tone borders on scolding, but his expression is far too pleased. “You should have more control than that. You know how long they take to heal.” 

“It’s fine, Oikawa,” Matsukawa says. “I don’t care about bruising.” Hanamaki’s eyes trail over the purple and blue and yellow bruising all along the left side of his throat, trailing up his right wrist. Even though he’s not hungry, he struggles to keep his fangs from popping out at the memories of leaving them. 

“You sound like a professional blood bag already,” The pixie says from his place on the floor. Hanamaki thinks his name is Yahaba. “Soon you’ll be crawling your way to the nearest vamp club for a taste.” 

“A taste?” Matsukawa asks, his brows wrinkled. Yahaba goes to open his mouth, but the low hiss Hanamaki let’s out is enough to keep him silent. It’s quiet enough for Matsukawa not to hear, but he knows every other downworlder in the room is aware. 

“Sex with a vampire can be quite addicting, Matsu,” Oikawa teases, trailing his fingers up and down Iwaizumi’s tan arms. “Luckily you have our Makki. No need for a vamp club.” 

Hanamaki is thankful to Oikawa for only saying that much. He mentioned vampire venom to Matsukawa before, but maybe he should have gone into more detail. 

“We have no plans to do that again,” Matsukawa says. “It was a deal, that’s all,” He looks back to Hanamaki. “Right?” 

Hanamaki just nods. Matsukawa may have been living around downworlders for a few years now, but there’s still so much he doesn’t know. 

The thought of it, of him being taken advantage of for his lack of knowledge, pulls at his chest. The look Oikawa gives him tells him he knows exactly what Hanamaki’s feeling. 

“We ordered Chinese from that place down the street,” Iwaizumi says, ever the good host. “You’re free to stay if you want. After we eat were going to head down to the club for drinks.” 

Hanamaki nods, but he isn’t so sure. 

In the end, he stays after the food comes, watching the wolves and Matsukawa and Yahaba eat, neither he or Oikawa indulging. They could probably stomach the food if they tried, if anything other than blood wasn’t revolting to them now. 

When the pack goes to leave to the club for the evening, Hanamaki decides he’s had enough of the social interaction. He says he’s gonna head home, and nobody argues. When Matsukawa stays behind though, he gets a few odd looks. 

“Are you coming, Issei?” Iwaizumi turns back to ask. 

Matsukawa waves him off. “Nah,” He says. “I think I'm gonna walk Hanamaki home.” 

He gets a few looks, and a laugh from Oikawa, but it’s clear he doesn’t care. Hanamaki is one of the last people in the city who need someone, much less a mortal, to walk him home at night. When the others head off, they stand just outside Iwaizumi’s door for a few moments, before Matsukawa turns to him, grinning. 

“Want to come to my place?” He asks. “Not for sex or blood. I feel like we haven’t really talked much, despite everything.” 

Hanamaki hesitates for a moment, but eventually nods, tucking his hands in his pockets to fight the urge to reach out and take Matsukawa’s in his own. He wants to touch him, wants to feel the warmth of his skin again. 

He follows Matsukawa down the stairs, and turns towards the parking lot to leave the complex, but Matsukawa turns the other way, to the other side of the building. Hanamaki pauses, confused, and then has to go full speed to catch up. 

“What are you doing?” He asks, curious. Matsukawa just looks at him.

“Showing you my apartment?” He phrases it like a question. He pulls out a set of keys when they reach door number three. “Didn’t I mention that I live with the pack?” 

Now that it’s been brought up, Hanamaki remembers Matsukawa saying the pack took him in when his grandmother died. He didn’t think that meant letting him live in their complex. 

The apartment they enter is cozy. Hanamaki can tell that before Matsukawa even flicks the lights on. As they kick of their shoes, Hanamaki notices books and knick-knacks scattered here and there. Not as many as Hanamaki. A mortal amount, he supposes. He has a decently stocked bookshelf in the living room, and Hanamaki can recognize most of the titles, even if they aren’t ones he owns. 

It seems they’re more similar than he thought. 

“Are you able to drink things besides blood?” Matsukawa asks. “I have juice, pop, beer.” He walks into the kitchen on socked feet, Hanamaki watching him go with a fondness aching in his chest. 

“Fizzy and sugary drinks clog up my veins,” Hanamaki says. “That’s where everything I drink goes, to keep my body working.” 

The choked sound Matsukawa makes earns a little chuckle from him. 

“So... Why blood, then?” Matsukawa asks. “Why can’t you just... Run your body on water?” 

“That makes no sense, Issei.” Hanamaki walks into the apartment further. 

“None if this supernatural shit makes sense. Vampires, werewolves.” He casts a look Hanamaki’s way. “Did you know pixies and nymphs and satyrs are from a different dimension?” 

Hanamaki snorts, nodding. “You’re right. None of it makes any sense.” He leans against the counter. “But it’s how our world works, I guess.”

“Our world.” Matsukawa says, something soft in his gaze. 

“Our world,” Hanamaki says. “Whether we are immortal or not, we're all born here. And despite the fact that we’re supposed to live forever, me and Oikawa and the pack will all one day, eventually turn to dust. This world is no more ours than it is yours.” 

“That’s kind of a sad way to look at something so beautiful.” Matsukawa tells him, and Hanamaki shrugs. 

“I was born in a different time. The universe has shown me enough ugliness for me to know it’s how we'll all end up.” 

“Are you sure you don’t want a drink?” Matsukawa asks, concern lacing the amusement in his voice. “Or do you always get so angsty after a big feed?” 

“Sorry,” Hanamaki says, ducking his head. “I know I’ve been weird since this morning. I’ve just had a lot on my mind. I shouldn’t be laying this all on you.” 

“I don’t mind,” Matsukawa comes forward. “All the other downworlders make everything seem so happy and light around me. They act like I don’t know it must be hard.” He comes closer, standing just a few feet from Hanamaki. Once again, with the cat and mouse game. 

“If you have anything you need to get off your chest, Takahiro, I'm here to listen.” 

The sincerity in Matsukawa’s voice makes Hanamaki's fingers shake. He stares down at the linoleum flooring, trying to form words. 

“I-“ He pauses. “I can’t tell you everything,” He says. “There’s over a century of shit in my brain, clogging it up, driving me mad.” He runs a hand through his hair, tugging at it. 

“Share one thing, then.” Matsukawa says. “Anything that will help you get this weight off your chest.” 

Hanamaki can’t think, can’t think of anything he could possibly say that won’t unravel his whole story, Oikawa's story. 

And then one thing comes to mind, something Matsukawa practically knows already. He nods, and meets Matsukawa’s eyes, a soft chocolate brown that draws him in. 

“I’m gay.” He says, the words leaving his mouth for the first time in over a century of life. Through everything, he’s never said it. He expects Matsukawa to laugh, since it’s something that’s probably pretty obvious at this point. 

“Okay,” Is all he says, still watching Hanamaki, letting him say whatever he wants to let out. So Hanamaki let’s it out. 

“I’m gay,” He breathes out. “And I’ve never said it before. And-“ He pauses, not sure if he can continue. His lungs, though dead, with no need for air, constrict, causing a sharp pain in his chest. He hunches forward, clenching at his chest. 

Matsukawa’s hands are there then, at his cheeks, warm and soothing. 

“It’s okay,” Matsukawa says, gentle. “Don’t push yourself.” 

“Isn’t it supposed to be like ripping off a bandaid?” Hanamaki asks, voice burning and raspy. 

“I think it’s more like pulling stitches, when the wound is so large.” Matsukawa says, pulling Hanamaki to his chest. Hanamaki trails a hand up Matsukawa’s arm, finding himself pressing lips to Matsukawa’s bruised wrist, just basking in the warmth of the pulse beneath his lips. “One at a time, 'Hiro.”

Hanamaki nods, still pressing his mouth to Matsukawa’s pulse. He has no intention of biting. He just likes the warmth, likes the scent. Matsukawa doesn’t seem to mind, just stands and watches as Hanamaki focuses on calming himself. 

“Lets go to the couch,” Matsukawa says after a moment. “It’s more comfortable than standing.” 

Hanamaki nods silently, and let’s Matsukawa pull him along to the plush grey couch in the corner of the living area. Hanamaki sits next to Matsukawa, initially, but Matsukawa pulls him close, encourages Hanamaki to drape his legs over his lap, rest his head in the crook of Matsukawa's shoulder. 

They sit silently for some time like that. Hanamaki just listening to Matsukawa’s heartbeat, Matsukawa doing whatever it is he does inside that mind of his. Eventually, the silence is broken. 

“When I was fourteen,” Matsukawa says. “I went out with a few friends from school.” He rests his chin against the top of Hanamaki’s head. “Just a typical night. We played basketball near the school, grabbed food.” 

Hanamaki senses that there’s more to the story, so he just listens. 

“I got home later than I usually did, and there was blood everywhere.” Matsukawa swallows. “Everywhere.” 

He pauses, taking a few breaths before he continues. “I guess a wolf had seen my grandma as easy prey, you know. And elderly woman, not a protective charm on her, since she'd given hers to me when she took me in, after my parents died. I guess she never got around to getting another one.” 

Hanamaki tangles a hand with Matsukawa’s. Though his voice has yet to waver, he holds Hanamaki’s hand tight. 

“Iwaizumi and the pack had been nearby when I got home, and I guess they heard me screaming for help. I don’t remember much, just that they couldn’t touch me. None of them. They had to calm me down with words alone, and convince me to come with them. They took care of me, of my grandma. They held a funeral for her, and everything.” Matsukawa ran his thumb along the back of Hanamaki’s hand. “They’ve treated me like one of them since. At least, as much as a mortal kid could be. They made me finish high school, but didn’t get mad when I chose not to go to college. They let me live here as long as I stay out of wolf business. They’ve become brothers to me, I suppose.” 

Hanamaki hums, and is about to speak, but Matsukawa turns Hanamaki’s hand around in his own, eyeing the rough, cross-shaped burn in his palm, not quite healed yet. 

“You held it?” Matsukawa asks. “Why would you do that?” 

With his free hand, Hanamaki pulls the cross from his pocket, letting out a low hiss at the burn. 

“You left it in my study,” Hanamaki says. “Even if you’re not untouched anymore, I figured you’d still want it back.” 

Matsukawa takes it in his hand immediately, practically ripping it out of Hanamaki’s grip. Hanamaki sits up, ready to move away. Instead of putting the necklace on, though, Matsukawa tosses it on the table, far away from where it can burn Hanamaki any further. 

He grabs Hanamaki’s hand again, this time in both of his own. 

“Stupid Takahiro,” He says. Hanamaki watches, unable to tear his eyes away, and Matsukawa presses a kiss to Hanamaki’s burned palm, then to the pad of each finger. Just like Hanamaki had to Matsukawa’s hand the night before, right before he ripped into Matsukawa's skin, leaving those bruises. “So stupid, and way too caring.” 

Hanamaki snorts, and leans back against Matsukawa’s chest, watching Matsukawa as he massages the centre of Hanamaki’s palm, as if to encourage the healing. 

He just stares, for a few moments, until Matsukawa drops his hand again, his arm coming to wrap around Hanamaki’s waist. They lapse back into silence. 

Pulling out stitches, one at a time. 

Hanamaki inhales a breath. 

“I was turned,” He says eventually. “Because I'm gay.” 

“How-“ Matsukawa cuts himself off, confused and curious, but knowing it’s not his place to demand to know anything. Hanamaki buries his face against Matsukawa’s shoulder for a moment, working up the courage to continue. 

Matsukawa’s hand rests on his thigh, keeping him grounded, present. He probably doesn’t even know that his touch is doing it, keeping Hanamaki from falling back into the past.

“Being gay almost two hundred years ago was different, obviously. Especially where I’m from,” Hanamaki whispers, as if being any louder will summon those memories in more detail than he would like. “You couldn’t just... Go out and meet people, go on dates. Nobody knew. And if someone was found out... It was never pretty. So we all hid. Or pretended.” 

Hanamaki pauses for almost a full minute, thinking on how he wants to tell this part of the story. Matsukawa lets him work through it, his thumb running back and forth over his leg through the fabric of his jeans. 

“I was twenty one, barely out of school. He was older, and he was...” Hanamaki inhales a shaky breath. “He was radiant. He had me from the moment we met.” He doesn’t let himself meet Matsukawa’s gaze. “Though maybe that was because of the venom he slipped into my drink.” 

“He poisoned you?” Matsukawa murmurs, voice rough. Hanamaki shakes his head.

“It’s like when I bit you,” Hanamaki says. “Vampire venom is like a drug, to make the bite feel good. But too much of it can become addicting. Too much of it can make it run your life. Until you’re begging for more. Begging for him to bite you just once more. Always one more time.” 

Hanamaki pulled Matsukawa’s hand into his own, and Matsukawa grips him tightly, so gently. 

“You don’t have to keep going.” Matsukawa tells him. 

“It’s okay,” Hanamaki says, and forces himself to smile as he repeats Matsukawa’s words from last night. “I trust you.” 

Matsukawa breathes a laugh, and nods, presses warm lips to Hanamaki’s temple. 

“He was going to kill me,” Hanamaki eventually tells Matsukawa. “He was just playing with me, getting every last drop of pleasure he could from me until he did. But at the last moment...” Hanamaki swallows. “I don’t know if he had a moment of guilt, or if he decided I was fun enough to keep around but... He asked me if I wanted to live.” 

Hanamaki finally meets Matsukawa’s eyes, blood red tears beading in his eyes. 

“And you said yes, didn’t you?” Matsukawa says. 

“He asked,” Hanamaki whispers. “He asked, but he didn’t give me the choice. He forced his blood down my throat, and then he buried me.” 

“Takahiro-“ Matsukawa’s voice breaks, and the bloody tears break, streaming down a pale cheek, staining the white skin. Matsukawa’s blood, Hanamaki’s blood. 

“I’m sorry,” Hanamaki says, wiping at his tears with the sleeve of his sweater, not wanting to stain Matsukawa’s shirt or the couch. “I said too much. I shouldn’t have-“

“Shut up,” Matsukawa grabs Hanamaki by the sides of his face, holding him so their eyes meet. “If you want to tell me, tell me. If you've been able to live with this weight on your heart for almost two centuries, I can listen to you while you get it out.” 

Hanamaki sniffles. “Are you sure?” He asks. “I don’t want to-“ 

“Tell me 'Hiro.” Matsukawa says. “I’ll listen. If you’re pulling out your stitches, I’ll be here to hold your hand through the pain.” 

Hanamaki can’t help it. He leans in, pressing a kiss to Matsukawa’s cheek. Then he closes his eyes, resting his forehead against Matsukawa’s. 

“When you break free, if you do, if you survive,” Hanamaki says. “it can be days, even weeks later. And you come out starving, desperate, ready to drain anything that moves. He did it over and over again, to every new member of the coven. He controlled us, he turned us, and then made us even more dependant on him. We were practically his slaves, his toys to mess with for an eternity. He never tired of it.” 

“There’s more,” Hanamaki whispers. “But I don’t think I can- I can’t-“ 

“Then don’t,” Matsukawa murmurs against him. “That’s enough stitches for one day.” 

Hanamaki nods, taking in shaky breath after shaky breath that his lungs don’t need. 

“Is there anything I can do?” Matsukawa asks. “Anything I could do to help?”

“You’ve done more than you could possibly know,” Hanamaki says. “I could never ask any more of you.” 

Matsukawa hums. “Try me.” 

Hanamaki gives a weak little laugh, pulling back to meet Matsukawa's gaze. 

“Can we stay just like this?” He asks. “For a little while more?” 

Matsukawa grins. 

“Exactly what I was hoping you'd ask.” 

For the second night in a row, Matsukawa falls asleep in the arms of a vampire, a predator at the top of the food chain. 

And he sleeps better than he has in years, even sitting upright on his only slightly comfortable couch. 

He wakes up alone, again, on his side with his head on a pillow he doesn’t remember grabbing, a blanket tucked around him. He groans, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, and sits up. 

The lights in the living room are off, but the window is starting to let in dim blue light, letting him know it must be almost morning. The lights are on in the kitchen, though, and the sound of clinking pots and pans must be what woke him. 

He gets to his feet, yawning as he makes his way across the room to the kitchen doorway. 

Hanamaki is standing at the counter, chopping up what looks like lettuce with impossibly fast movements. It only takes a flash, maybe half a second, before the sticks of green are cut in perfectly even pieces. He’s humming as he works, some soft tune Matsukawa doesn’t recognize. 

“What are you doing?” Matsukawa says, leaning against the doorway. Hanamaki jumps, as if he was lost in his own little world. Hand pressed to his chest, Hanamaki sets down the knife with the other, looking to Matsukawa with a little smile. 

“Making you breakfast?” Hanamaki says. “I figured you’d be hungry... I know I didn’t take any blood from you last night, but the recovery process can be quite-“ 

Hanamaki's cheeks are flushed red. Red from embarrassment, red from Matsukawa’s blood, still running through his body. 

He smiles. “Thank you, Takahiro.” 

The coffee maker goes off on the counter, and Matsukawa pushes off the door frame. He slips around Hanamaki to grab a mug from the cupboard, pauses, looking down at his bowed head as he gathers the chopped lettuce into a pan of frying egg and sausage. 

“Have you actually tested that theory of yours?” Matsukawa asks. “About everything you drink going right into your veins?” 

Hanamaki gives a little laugh, seeming in a much better mood this morning than he had the night before. 

“How else would it work, Matsu? Have you ever seen a vampire drink alcohol? Goes right to their head.” He slides a little smile Matsukawa’s way. “But no, I haven’t tested it. I haven’t drunk alcohol since...” He clears his throat. “I’m not a partier like Oikawa.” 

Matsukawa knows what me means. Knows Hanamaki hasn’t indulged since he was drugged by the vampire who turned him. The thought makes Matsukawa’s blood boil. 

“Do you want to try the coffee?” He asks, and grabs another mug. “You don’t have to finish it. I’m just a little curious.” 

Hanamaki purses his lips, thinking as he flips the omelette he's making with a spatula. 

“Sorry,” Matsukawa says, and goes to put the mug back. “I won’t push. I shouldn’t have even-“

“I’ll try it,” Hanamaki gives him a little smile. “I used to love coffee.” 

Matsukawa grins, breathing out a little relieved sigh. 

“Okay.” 

Matsukawa watches while Hanamaki carefully flips the omelette, reaching for an already shredded bowl of cheese, and sprinkling it in the middle. He folds the omelette in half. 

“I didn’t think a vampire would know how to cook.” Matsukawa admits, pouring the two mugs of coffee. He likes his own black with a hint of sugar, but he doesn’t know about Hanamaki, so he leaves it be.

Hanamaki gnaws at his upper lip. 

“My mother was a decent chef,” He tells Matsukawa, voice soft. “But she was an even better baker. Her cream puffs were some of the best I'd ever had.” 

Matsukawa leans against the counter, hot mug clasped in between his hands. 

“Did you ever see her again, after?” He asks. He worries that he might be prying too much, but Hanamaki doesn’t seem to mind. 

“Before I was forced to leave, to come here,” Hanamaki tells him. “I tried to go see her. I had been turned for only a few days, was still so thirsty and violent, but the thought of never seeing my mama again was...” Hanamaki shakes his head. 

“To come to Tokyo?” Matsukawa asks. “I’m sure it wouldn’t be hard to go back and see her...” Matsukawa sighs. “Her grave, I guess. The trains these days are quite-“ 

“I wouldn’t be able to take the train.” Hanamaki cuts him off, reaching for a plate for the omelette. He casts Hanamaki a look. “Havent you really looked at me? I’m not just white because I’m a vampire.” 

Matsukawa’s mouth dries. He hasn’t really thought about it, the difference between their features. To Matsukawa, every downworlder looks so unique already. He’d just assumed Hanamaki was Japanese, too. 

“I was born in Paris,” Hanamaki tells him. “You implied when you met me that you know parts of who I am. Hanamaki Takahiro isn’t the name I was born with.” 

“You’re from France,” Matsukawa says, thinking out loud. “You could still go and-“ 

“I couldn’t.” Hanamaki sighs, reaching over to shut off the stove. “When I said goodbye to my old self and came here, I vowed to never go back. I’ve stuck to that vow for almost two hundred years.” Hanamaki inhales deeply, and Matsukawa feels horrible for trying to talk about something clearly so personal. 

He said he would hold Hanamaki’s hand while he tore out his old stitches, not try to rip them out for him. 

“Besides,” Hanamaki says. “My mother and siblings would have all been dead by the eighteen-fifties, before they stopped moving bodies into the catacombs. They’d be down there. And nobody down there is labelled. It would be impossible to find them.” 

They lapse into silence for a moment, Matsukawa at a loss for words. He sighs, and sets down his mug. 

“I’m sorry, Taka-“ He sighs again. “I’m sorry.” 

Hanamaki sets down the plate, and steps towards Matsukawa. 

“It’s okay, Issei.” Hanamaki says, though his golden eyes are full of pain. 

“But it-“ 

“It’s okay.” Hanamaki comes closer, and grabs Matsukawa’s hand in his own, his pale skin cold, but not unpleasant. It makes Matsukawa think for a moment of the previous morning, how Hanamaki had reacted to that simple touch to the back of his neck. 

“Issei, there’s a lot to know about me,” Hanamaki tells him. “I know that. I wish it wasn’t that way, but it is.” He doesn’t look away from Matsukawa’s eyes this time, looks him head on as he talks. “I need you to know that I like you, this. Whatever this is.” He gives a little laugh, his cheeks flushing again. “If were going to spend some time together, I can’t expect you to walk on eggshells around me. It’s not fair.” 

“So if you want to ask me anything, just do it.” Hanamaki says. “If I don’t feel comfortable, I’ll tell you. But please, don’t hold back.” 

Matsukawa nods, feeling his own heart patter in his chest. He wonders if Hanamaki can hear it.

“You like me?” 

Hanamaki laughs, ducking his head. 

“No,” He says. “Ive spent the last two days pouring my soul out to you because I hate you. Of course I like you, you oaf.” 

Matsukawa huffs, entwining their fingers together tightly. 

“Then I have a question for you.” He says, and Hanamaki hums. 

“Yeah?” 

Matsukawa leans in close, presses their foreheads together. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

Hanamaki snorts, as if it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard. Maybe it is, considering the things they did just over twenty four hours ago. But he doesn’t care. 

“You fucking better,” Hanamaki laughs, and Matsukawa leans in, closing the small distance without a care in the world. 

Hanamaki’s lips are soft, though chapped. He’s warmer than he was the other night, and knowing that’s because of Matsukawa’s blood in his veins both embarrasses him, and pleases him. Hanamaki wraps an arm around Matsukawa’s shoulder, leaning into the kiss, smiling against Matsukawa’s lips. 

After a moment, Matsukawa pulls back, scattering little kisses against Hanamaki’s lips as he goes. Hanamaki had closed his eyes, and he blinks them back open, running fingers through the hair at the nape of Matsukawa’s neck. 

“For the record,” Matsukawa says, hands dropping to Hanamaki’s slim hips. “I like this, too. I like you.” 

Hanamaki gives a little huff, presses another kiss to Matsukawa’s lips before pulling back. He picks up the abandoned omelette, and holds it out. 

“Just eat your breakfast,” He tells Matsukawa. “Before it gets cold.” 

Matsukawa snorts, but takes the plate, thankful that Hanamaki cares enough to make him food. 

“Thanks, 'Hiro.” 

Hanamaki joins Matsukawa at the table while he eats, the mug of black coffee sitting untouched in front of him, for now. If their ankles are entwined under the table, neither of them acknowledge it. 

At some point, Hanamaki reaches for the mug, and Matsukawa watches him take a deep inhale, breathing in the scent of coffee like he craves it. 

“You don’t have to drink it,” Matsukawa says as he finishes the last of the omelette. “It was stupid of me to suggest, anyways.” 

Hanamaki glares, though there isn’t any real anger behind it. As if to spite Matsukawa, he lifts the steaming mug to his lips, and takes a slow sip. 

And coughs, setting the mug down, leaning over. 

“Shit,” Matsukawa gets to his feet, coming around the table. “I told you- are you okay?” 

But Hanamaki just laughs, his shoulders shaking. 

“Fucking bitter,” Hanamaki purses his lips. “I think I'm fine, but fuck, that’s bitter.”

Matsukawa’s shoulders slump, relieved. He’d thought, for a moment there, his heart was going to shrivel up in his chest. 

“Do you... Want sugar, or something?” He asks, and Hanamaki looks at him, expression strangely bright. 

“Sure,” He grins. “I used to like it with a lot of cream and sugar, so... I guess my tastes haven’t changed?” 

Matsukawa smiles, leaning down to press a quick kiss to Hanamaki’s cheek as he picks up the mug, taking it over to the counter. When he looks back, Hanamaki is sitting oddly still, looking blankly out with an awed expression. He raises a hand to his cheek, and Matsukawa grins. 

Cute. 

He adds enough cream to give the coffee a more caramel colour, and a few spoons of sugar. When Hanamaki tastes it again, it’s with a long, pleasant gulp, that leaves the mug half empty. 

“God, that’s good,” Hanamaki says, leaning back in his chair. “And it’s definitely going to my stomach. It’s warm.” 

Matsukawa takes his seat again. “So you think you’re fine to drink things besides blood?” 

Hanamaki pauses for a moment, then shrugs. “I don’t know,” He says, honestly. “I haven’t really discussed stuff like this with other vamps. I guess... I just figured it would make sense that instead of going to my stomach, everything I drink goes to my blood stream.” He takes another sip of coffee. “I guess I never considered it... None of this downworlder shit makes any sense.” 

Matsukawa huffs a little laugh. “It really doesn’t.” 

Hanamaki finishes the mug within minutes, and gets up to make another. Matsukawa wonders if the caffeine will affect Hanamaki, but figures he shouldn’t say anything. He doesn’t think he’s seen Hanamaki so naturally happy since they met. 

His chest aches, a little. 

Hanamaki sticks around until after the sun comes up, helping to clean up the small mess from breakfast, and chatting idly. A few kisses are passed back and forth, but it never goes further than that. 

There's a part of Hanamaki that wants to jump Matsukawa’s bones and ride into the sunset. But it’s barely after sunrise, and he doesn’t think either of them would have the stamina for that. 

He laughs a little to himself at the thought. 

“I should probably get going, soon.” He says eventually, when they’re relaxing on the couch. “I have some work to finish at home.” 

“Are you fine to go outside in the middle of the day?” Matsukawa asks, hand subconsciously running over Hanamaki’s calf over and over again. “Wont you shrivel up, or something?” 

“If I’m exposed for more than a few minutes, I’ll get a pretty bad sunburn,” He says. “But I’ll be fine if I’m just running home.” 

Matsukawa nods, leaning over to steal another kiss from Hanamaki’s already kiss-swollen lips. This is the most Hanamaki’s ever let himself indulge in someone’s touch, in the touch of another man. 

Matsukawa leaves him weak, and Hanamaki loves it. He loves it because he knows he still has a choice. Matsukawa would pull away the second Hanamaki indicates he doesn’t want it. 

He trusts Matsukawa. 

After a few more minutes of soft chatter and the occasional kiss, they both get to their feet. 

Hanamaki slips into his shoes, Matsukawa following behind him. They exchange a few more kisses, not really wanting to part ways, but knowing Hanamaki has work to do. 

He opens the door, still pressing his lips to Matsukawa’s one last time, and freezes. 

“Issei,” He says, voice dropping. “Stay inside. Don’t come out.” 

Then he’s gone, closing the door behind him tightly as his fangs burst without his consent, the scent of blood- too much blood to be safe for anyone, attacks his senses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave kudos or a comment if you're enjoying this fic so far! I love hearing your guys thoughts, even if they're just incoherent rambles!


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I knew it's you
> 
> It's true
> 
> I was standing on holy ground
> 
> So heart don't fail me now
> 
> And even if the walls were falling down
> 
> It will always be us, be us
> 
> This is holy ground
> 
> Take my hand
> 
> To the promised land
> 
> We'll cross the sand
> 
> 'Til all this fades to black

Horror, fear, thirst. They’re all feelings that rush through Hanamaki’s body as he runs as fast as he can around the side of the building. Chasing the scent of blood, metallic and far too strong. 

It’s not just blood, but the scent of it- it’s changing. One moment, it’s human, the next, it becomes more and more earthy, heady. 

Someone is being turned into a werewolf nearby. 

He nearly stumbles over the body, that’s how fast he’s going. But he manages to stop himself, manages to force himself to assess the situation. 

Thick blood, too much of it, pool from the small body at his feet, slumped against the wall. 

A kid. No more than fifteen- oh god. 

The wound- a bite tearing through the boys shoulder, shredding flesh and muscle and bone. Hanamaki is caught somewhere between thirst – his instincts screaming at him -, and horror, seeing this kid, this child, bleeding out in a dirty alleyway. 

He’s unconscious, though Hanamaki doesn’t know if that’s a relief or not.

The young boy's ginger hair is matted with blood, his head tilted to one side unnaturally. Hanamaki’s fingers are shaking, trying to work through his rushing thoughts, trying to figure out what he should do.

The sound of footsteps behind him. Hanamaki whips around, fangs bared, ready to protect the young boy. But it’s just Matsukawa, coming to a sudden halt at the mouth of the alley, his eyes landing on the form at Hanamaki’s feet.

“Another mauling,” Hanamaki says, trying to relax his stiff shoulders, but unable to. “I told you to stay inside.” 

Matsukawa approaches, and Hanamaki can see the way his hands are shaking. 

“Call Iwaizumi,” Matsukawa says, kneeling down next to the unconscious kid. “I’ll take him to one or the vacant apartments we use for new turns.” 

“Issei, let me-“

“Please just call,” Matsukawa’s voice breaks as he gently scoops up the young boy’s unmoving body. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, but your fangs are out and your eyes-“ He shakes his head, holding the boy to his chest, blood already staining his shirt. “Just let me handle this?” 

Hanamaki nods, knowing it isn’t his place to order Matsukawa around, especially considering his own waning control. 

Hanamaki watches Matsukawa go, carrying the young boy like he weighs nothing. Nothing compared to what Hanamaki knows is a heavy weight settling in Matsukawa’s chest. He’d seen the way he'd begun to shake at the sight of all the blood, knows what must be running through his mind right now. 

Hanamaki doesn’t let himself get too lost in that, promises to talk to Matsukawa later about it if he wants to. He steps away from the pool of blood, out of the alley to try and calm himself, though he ends up practically stabbing at the screen of his phone with long fingers, nearly growling at it. 

Why did Oikawa demand he get a smartphone? Why couldn’t he just keep his old one, which still worked perfectly fine? The buttons were easier for him to handle. An actual keyboard, even if it had taken a while for him to memorize how many times he had to press each key to get the letter he wanted when texting. 

By the time he manages to type in Iwaizumi’s number and raise the phone to his ear, he can already feel the sun burning against him, beginning to singe his cheeks and the back of his neck, slowly and tortuously. He steps into the shade the building provides him, hoping to slow the burning. 

Iwaizumi picks up on the fourth ring. 

“Ello?” He sounds groggy, like he just woken up. “Makki?” 

Hanamaki takes a moment to speak, and then it all rushes out before he can think through it all. 

“There was another mauling- some kid. I got a whiff of his blood and he’s starting to turn, but I don’t know if he’s going to make it before the healing kicks in-“ He's rambling, pacing back and forth, shaking. “I was leaving and I smelt the blood and I found him right in that alley at the side of the building. Issei’s running him to one of the vacant apartments right now and-“ 

“Wait, wait- fuck.” Iwaizumi is wide awake now, and there’s a startled noise on the other end of the line, sounding like Oikawa. “How bad is the wound?” 

“Shoulder wound,” Hanamaki says. “Looks like it’s down to the collarbone, probably broken. There was a lot of blood.” 

“Okay, okay. Fuck, I’m on my way.” He hears shuffling, the sound of a drawer opening and closing. “I’ll have Kyou check out the alleyway and see if he can track the scent of the wolf who did it.” There’s a few moments where Iwaizumi doesn’t speak, and he’s sure Iwaizumi’s just getting ready to leave and hasn’t bothered to end the call yet. 

“How’s Issei doing?” Iwaizumi asks after some time, right before Hanamaki considers ending the call himself. “Does he seem alright?” 

Right, Iwaizumi knows. Of course he does. He’s the one who found Matsukawa, after all. Fourteen years old, screaming at the sight of his grandmother’s bloodied body. 

“He’s shaken,” Hanamaki says. “He seems to be trying to work through it though. I’ll make sure to keep an eye on him.” 

There's a quiet, relieved sigh. How Iwaizumi knows Matsukawa would have told him, he doesn’t know. But the thought of Matsukawa having someone to confide in makes Hanamaki’s heart swell in a way it shouldn’t be right now, all the borrowed blood in his body rushing in all different directions without control. 

“Good,” Iwaizumi says. There’s someone speaking in the background, clearly Oikawa. “I’ll be down in a minute,” Iwaizumi says to Hanamaki, and hangs up. 

Hanamaki finds himself standing there in the shadows for a while, not knowing what to do with himself. Should he follow the trailing scent Matsukawa and the boy left and check in on them, try to help? Is it even his place to do so? Or should he just wait for Iwaizumi to arrive, to tell him what to do? 

But the thought of Matsukawa being in that apartment, alone, taking care of an unconscious, injured kid. The boy isn’t much older than Matsukawa had been when he’d lost the last family he had. 

Whether its his place or not, he wants to be there for Matsukawa. 

Hanamaki follows the scent of blood to the apartment Matsukawa had entered, forcing his fangs to retract and hoping his eyes have returned to their golden hue. The apartment door is cracked open, as Matsukawa had probably been too preoccupied with the kid to close it all the way. 

Hanamaki hears a voice inside, Matsukawa’s low drawl, though more panicked than Hanamaki has ever heard him. He slips inside, clicking the door shut behind him. 

Matsukawa is stood at a table in the middle of the main room, clearly decked out to be used for medical treatment, not a living room. The boy is carefully placed in the centre of the table, and Matsukawa is holding a white cloth to the wound, quickly becoming stained with blood that just wont stop flowing. 

Hanamaki swallows, forces himself to stay calm, and approaches. 

Matsukawa is muttering to himself, some low reassurances Hanamaki can’t quite make out. But the way his hands shake tell Hanamaki he won’t be able to handle this for long, won’t be able to handle whatever memories are rushing through him as he tries to stop the bleeding. 

“Issei,” He says. It’s his turn to approach Matsukawa like he’s a wounded animal, his turn to take slow, deliberate steps. “Iwaizumi will be here any moment. You don’t have to-“ 

“I’m not leaving him.” Matsukawa’s voice is rough, and beyond the blood, Hanamaki picks up the scent of tears. From behind, Hanamaki can’t see Matsukawa’s face, but he knows the tears must be his. “Not until I’m sure he'll be okay.” 

“Issei, he’s already starting the change-“ Hanamaki approaches, coming up behind Matsukawa. He flinches, but doesn’t pull away when Hanamaki rests a hand on his tattooed arm, spattered with blood that isn’t his own, down his bruised wrist, and rests over his hand. “You don’t have to put yourself through this.” 

“He’s just a kid!” Matsukawa’s voice is barely a whisper, but there’s so much pain in it, so much hurt that Hanamaki wants nothing more to fix. “He’s just a kid and- and even if he makes it he won’t get to grow up! He’ll be stuck here, forever.” 

Matsukawa's voice breaks, and Hanamaki’s heart breaks with it. He wants nothing more in this moment than to tell Matsukawa that it will be alright, that they’ll do whatever they can to help the boy. But before he even can, the door slams open and Iwaizumi is there, a fluttery and panicked looking Oikawa at his heels. Behind him are two pack members Hanamaki recalls vaguely as Kindaichi and Kunimi. They’ve been around almost as long as he and Oikawa have been, even though they look no older than the young boy on the table covered in blood. 

Iwaizumi approaches with a confidence Hanamaki knows will never waver in the face of a challenge. He comes around the other side of the table and sets his hands over Matsukawa’s, whose shoulders slump as he pulls them away, finally. 

“We’ve got this, Issei,” Iwaizumi says, his voice unexpectedly gentle as he lifts the cloth for a moment to check the wound. “You don’t have to stay.” 

“I’m not leaving,” Matsukawa’s voice is surprisingly firm. “I want to help.” 

Iwaizumi eyes him for just a moment, to be sure, and then nods. “You can stay,” He says, looking at the both of them. “But let me and the others handle this part. We have experience with wounds like this.” 

Matsukawa nods, not looking anywhere but the worryingly relaxed face of the unconscious boy. 

“Go clean yourself up,” Iwaizumi tells them, not looking at them anymore as he nods to Kunimi and Kindaichi to approach the table. “Tooru, show them what to do.” 

It sounds like an order, inconsiderate. But it’s clear it’s not meant that way in how Oikawa nods, coming to grab the two of them and gently pull them out of the room. 

“What are we doing?” Hanamaki asks Oikawa a few minutes later, as Matsukawa washes the remains of blood from his arms. They don’t have time for much more. 

“The turning process,” Oikawa says, his voice soft. He leans back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. His brows are pinched tight. “Its... Horrible. Different than ours was but, just as horrible.” 

Hanamaki feels himself tremor at the memory, forces it down. He won’t let it come up right now, not when he is needed for something else. 

“In the past, the pack have always tried to handle the... Panic, by forcing the turnee into physical restraints, to stop them from causing help to themselves or others. In situations like these, wolves aren’t typically good with handling their emotions. Too many hormones running on overdrive.” 

Hanamaki nods, trying to understand. He knows Matsukawa is listening through the open door of the bathroom. 

“When Kyouken-chan turned, though,” Oikawa continues. “The restraints weren’t able to hold him, and neither was Hajime trying to get him to submit, as an alpha. Usually even a new pup would be calmed by that...” 

Hanamaki watches Oikawa’s stiff form, his clenched jaw. 

“I was there and seeing him like that... It reminded me of...” Oikawa clears his throat. “I couldn’t stand to see it. So I told them to let me try.” 

Hanamaki remembers Iwaizumi telling him how Oikawa has been helping with new turns, how he’s been able to calm them, putting himself at risk of injury, knowing he'll heal fast enough for it to not matter. 

“What does that mean, exactly?” Matsukawa finally turns to them, looking haggard already, his eyes rimmed red. 

“I’m not sure how much you’ll be able to help with, Matsu,” Oikawa admits. “You’re mortal, and if he flips and bites you-“ Oikawa frowns, and Hanamaki tenses. “Me and Makki won’t be affected. We can calm him down without losing our cool, and not having to worry about being hurt.” 

“So I’m still just supposed to do nothing?” Matsukawa is shaking, though it’s more with anger than anything else at that point. “I’m supposed to just sit back and watch while that kid-“ 

There's a cry from the living room, one that turns into an ear-splitting help, the cracking of bones. 

It's starting. 

“I’m sorry, Matsu,” Oikawa says, and it’s barely a whisper, before he’s grabbing Hanamaki and pulling him back into the living room to face the pain of a wolf’s first turn. 

It's horrifying, as Hanamaki had imagined. Much worse when they all know it’s the end of the mortal life of someone so young. 

When they came in, the boys back had been arched in a painful way that implied his spine was cracking to fit it’s new form. His shirt had been removed to give better access to the wound, and Hanamaki was struck by how thin the kid looked. It was clear he hadn’t eaten in days, maybe weeks. Was he homeless? 

The arm on his injured side had been strapped down with a leather strap, too keep him from moving and upsetting the wound while it healed. With such a quick healing process, they needed to be careful and keep him in place as best as they could. 

The wound was already healing, the blood flow finally slowing. But now they had a whole new fiasco to worry about. The shifting itself. 

Now, the wolves surrounding the boy have all backed away, accept for Iwaizumi. He keeps a careful eye on the boy to make sure nothing goes wrong – first shifts can do some awful things to the human body – while Hanamaki and Oikawa come close enough to hold him in place, not wanting him to fall off the medical bed. 

There was the cracking of another bone, and the boys eyes shoot wide open, mouth opening wide in a scream. 

It feels like it takes hours for the shift to finish, though it’s probably only a few minutes. The first part of him to change are his brown eyes, which darken to an inky black, then his hands, which morph into sharp claws that thrash and cut through Hanamaki and Oikawa with abandon. All the while the boy screams, cries, out of it and horrified. 

At one point Hanamaki looks to Oikawa and sees that his friend is crying, though not from the pain of a clawed hand digging into his arm. Bloody red tears fall down his cheeks, his shoulders shaking, though his strength doesn’t wane as he murmurs soothing words, trying to keep the boy calm. It doesn’t seem to be working, but it must be. He doesn’t break free of their restraint, and he doesn’t lash out and bite them. 

Hanamaki ends up with a large scratch blooming across his side, along with the endless river of blood dripping down his arms, but he refuses to let go as they heal. He’ll need to feed after losing so much blood, but he doesn’t let himself think about that now. He focuses on the boy, whose limbs are cracking at odd angles and are sprouting with ginger fur. 

Then there’s a wolf in front of them, kicking and growling and yelping, fur matted with a thick layer of blood. The boy’s remaining clothes are shredded from the shift, and Oikawa hurries to undo the leather restraints as to not hurt the kid any further. 

“Back off,” Iwaizumi’s voice rings out, and Hanamaki and Oikawa both drop their hands, stepping away. “Give him space.” They do as told, and the wolf rolls into his side, limbs unsteady as he tries to get to his feet. He falls from the table, and Hanamaki’s first instinct is to reach out and catch him. Iwaizumi's demand rings in his ears, though. 

He backs away, and finds himself standing in front of Matsukawa, in case the kid panics. The turn is over, but something could still go wrong. 

But the wolf just whimpers, keeping low and hunched. Not as if he's going to attack, but as if he’s frightened, trying to make himself seem smaller than he already is. 

Hanamaki just stands back, watches the pup as he lets out a low whine, his eyes roaming around the room, wide with fear. His tail is hung low between his legs, and he slowly backs up against the wall. 

Oikawa is the first to come forward, in slow, careful steps. 

The pup yelps and pushes back against the wall, looking back and forth for a way to escape. 

“Hey,” Oikawa's voice is soft, low. He ducks down and gets to his knees. “It’s okay. We won’t hurt you.” 

The kid whines, ducking his snout in between his paws, pressing against the floor. 

“You’re okay,” Oikawa's voice is calm, unshaking even though he was just crying. “Just try to stay calm, alright?” 

There’s a moment where the kid just watches Oikawa, then a bob of his head Hanamaki thinks is supposed to be a nod. 

Oikawa comes a bit closer, and the boy shudders so hard Hanamaki’s afraid he’s going to lash out. But Oikawa doesn’t pull back, just reaches out slowly, letting the kid sniff once at his hand before resting it against the top of his head, right in between perked ears. 

Hanamaki watches as Oikawa pets gently at the fur at the top of the kids head, forcing himself to smile, even if it’s a sad one. He swears he hears the thumping of a wagging tail. 

After a few moments, there’s the cracking of bones again, though there is only a small cry as the wolf returns to his human form, small and hunched and less scared than before. 

The wound has healed almost fully on his shoulder, now no more than a large, purple scar, rough and dark. Iwaizumi comes over with a blanket for the kid, who just stares at him, golden eyes wide. 

“Who-“ His voice breaks, dry. “Who are you?” 

“I’m Tooru,” Oikawa says, helping to wrap the blanket around the boys shaking body. “And this is Hajime. He’s just like you.” 

The boy stares at Iwaizumi for a moment, his nostrils flaring. He must be able to smell everything more strongly than before, must be able to recognize the strong, commanding scent Iwaizumi gives off. His new instincts are probably somewhere in between telling him to run, and telling him to bow to Iwaizumi. 

Iwaizumi just sits on his knees in front of the boy, something Hanamaki knows is rare for an Alpha to do in front of another wolf. He holds out a hand. 

“Iwaizumi Hajime,” He introduces himself by his full name. “What's your name?” 

The kid just continues to look at him, mouth open in a little O. Then he holds out his hand, small and pale and scarred already from where his claws had broken loose. They will fade, eventually. 

“Hinata Shouyou...” He says, barely a whisper. “What- What’s happening to me?” 

“Do you remember anything?” Oikawa asks him. “The person who hurt you?” 

“The wolf,” Hinata whispers, and Oikawa nods. Hinata grips the blanket tight around his body. “I didn’t see anything. It came at me from behind... But- they’re like me? Like us?” 

Iwaizumi scoots a little closer. “We’ll talk more about that in a bit,” He says. “But you probably want to get cleaned up, right?” 

Hinata nods. “Is there anything to eat?” He asks softly. “I’m... Really hungry.” 

Iwaizumi gives a soft smile. “Of course. We'll make whatever you want.” 

Hanamaki turns to Matsukawa, whose been watching silently over his shoulder this whole time. 

Hanamaki presses a bloodied hand to his cheek, slow, not wanting to startle him. 

“Come on,” He says softly when Matsukawa meets his eyes. “He’s okay. We should go get cleaned up.” 

Matsukawa starts to speak, but Hanamaki shushes him. “I know, Issei,” He says. “But he’ll be okay with Iwa and Oikawa. They know how to take care of him. We'll see him again another time.” 

Matsukawa sighs, nods, and let’s Hanamaki grab his hand and lead him out of the apartment, back to Matsukawa’s. 

As soon as the door closes behind them, Matsukawa’s shoulders slump, and he looks for a moment like he’s just going to sink to his knees right there on the floor. 

Hanamaki kicks off his shoes and comes around to Matsukawa’s front, cupping his cheeks. 

“Talk to me, Issei,” Hanamaki says, voice soft. “Please, don’t keep it in.” 

Matsukawa just blinks at him for a moment, lost in thought. Then tears are welling in his eyes. One of his hands come up to Hanamaki’s wrist, holding him in place. 

“There was so much blood, Hiro,” He whispers. “It was just like- just like when I found her and trying to stop the blood was- and I-“ He’s unable to keep going, his voice cracking into a sob as Hanamaki pulls him in, holding him close as he slumps against Hanamaki’s chest. 

“I’m so sorry,” Hanamaki whispers against Matsukawa’s hair. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that, had to relive it. But he's okay, he'll be okay.” He runs fingers through Matsukawa’s dark curls, gentle. “He seems like a strong kid, like you must have been.” 

Matsukawa just grips tightly at the back of his shirt, and lets Hanamaki hold him. 

Hanamaki isn’t sure how long they stand there, just holding each other. But Hanamaki let’s Matsukawa work through his tears without rushing, even though the blood on their skin is drying and will make showering much more stressful soon. He waits until Matsukawa pulls back of his own accord, wiping at his eyes. 

“You should shower and change,” Hanamaki tells him. “I’ll head home and give you space.” 

“No,” Matsukawa grabs his hand. “Stay, please. We can shower together. I mean, if you want-“ 

Hanamaki steps forward and presses a kiss to Matsukawa’s cheek, the one not stained with blood. 

“Okay,” He says, and gently pulls Matsukawa further into the apartment. “I’ll stay.”

He leads Matsukawa down the hall to the bathroom, steps forward to start the water. Then he turns back to see Matsukawa just standing there, eyes a little glassy, still a little out of it. 

“C’mere,” Hanamaki says, and Matsukawa does. He slowly strips Matsukawa of his blood stained clothes, letting them drop to the floor. He watches Matsukawa’s face almost the whole time, watches as he slowly begins to come back to himself. 

“You can step in,” He says once Matsukawa’s bare. “I’ll join you in a second.” 

Matsukawa nods, and opens the curtain to step into the shower. Hanamaki strips off his own clothes, and collects everything into a pile for laundry later. He grabs two towels from the rack and sets them on the toilet seat next to the shower. He pauses, unsure of himself, if he should even be here. But Matsukawa said he wants Hanamaki to stay, so he will. 

Hanamaki slides into the shower, finding Matsukawa just standing under the spray, unmoving. He frowns, reaching out and touching Matsukawa’s blood-crusted cheek. 

“Are you okay?” He asks Matsukawa, just wanting to be sure. Matsukawa sighs, and nods. 

“I will be, I think.” Hanamaki hums, and steps a bit closer. 

“Lets get cleaned up then,” Hanamaki reaches for the bottle of body wash he sees on the ledge. Matsukawa hums his assent. 

They take turns washing each other, slow, gentle. Hanamaki carefully washes away the bloody handprint he left on Matsukawa’s cheek, the blood staining his chest from how close he’d held Hinata earlier. Matsukawa washes the blood from the healed wound on Hanamaki’s side, his arms. They watch as red, soapy water swirls it’s way down the drain, cleaning each other off thoroughly and gently. 

Hanamaki has Matsukawa turn around so he can soap up his hair with shampoo, and he presses up against Matsukawa as he does, embracing his warmth. They barely speak, occasionally letting out wordless murmurs that they’re somehow able to decipher. It’s only halfway through the day, but they’re both drained. 

Matsukawa, mentally, and Hanamaki, actually. 

Once Matsukawa falls asleep he'll probably run home quickly and gulp down a few blood bags before coming back. Maybe he’ll grab the work he’s supposed to do while he’s there. 

Hanamaki rinses Matsukawa’s hair, humming and running fingers through his wet curls. Once it’s Hanamaki’s turn, Matsukawa presses a kiss to Hanamaki’s cheek before he turns around. 

Matsukawa runs his fingers through Hanamaki’s hair, digging them into his scalp just enough to draw out a pleased groan.

Matsukawa presses a kiss to Hanamaki’s pale shoulder, and Hanamaki turns his head to meet Matsukawa’s gaze. There’s something fiery in his eyes, wanting. 

When they step out of the shower a few minutes later, Hanamaki finds then stealing kisses as they dry themselves off, all lingering looks and touches. They’re drained, but now they want. Hanamaki wants to feel Matsukawa’s warm skin all over his own, wants to kiss every inch of Matsukawa’s body. Most of all, he wants to take Matsukawa apart in the gentlest of ways, kiss him and touch him until all his worries fade to nothing. 

So he lets Matsukawa pull them to his bedroom once they're dry, not bothering with clothes. Hanamaki hasn’t been in here before, but he doesn’t care to look around much when he could be dragging his lips down Matsukawa’s jaw, running his hands down Matsukawa’s chest and dipping them into slim curves of his hips. 

“Lay down,” He tells Matsukawa lowly. “Let me take care of you.” 

“You don’t have to- ah-“ Matsukawa cuts himself off with a choked noise when Hanamaki drags a finger along his half-hard cock. 

“I want to,” Hanamaki says. He pulls back to meet Matsukawa’s eyes. “I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to.” 

Matsukawa's cheeks heat up, a nice rosy colour against his olive skin. He nods, and pulls Hanamaki back with him, before taking a seat at the edge of the bed. 

“Scoot up.” Hanamaki says. Matsukawa does as told, laying back against the pillows. Hanamaki hums, satisfied, letting a grin take over his face as he settles in between Matsukawa’s legs. 

“Just lay back and enjoy it,” He murmurs, running a hand up Matsukawa’s leg, resting at the jut of his hip. “But if you want me to stop, tell me.” 

Matsukawa nods, resting his hands at his sides like he doesn’t know what to do with them. 

Hanamaki ducks down, and presses a kiss to Matsukawa’s hip, then to the inside of his thigh. Then to the tip of Matsukawa’s cock, hardening by the second. He grips the base loosely, and peaks his tongue out, licking a stripe back up to the head. 

“Ah- fuck-“ Matsukawa grips the sheets tightly, eyes clenching shut. Hanamaki let’s him, for now, knowing Matsukawa will want to keep his eyes on him soon. 

“So good, Issei,” Hanamaki murmurs, running his free hand up and down Matsukawa’s shaking thigh. “You’re so good.” 

Matsukawa groans, and Hanamaki wraps his lips around the head, licking and sucking but never going any further. He wants Matsukawa’s eyes on him when he does. 

For now, he just plays with him, breaking him down. He runs his tongue along a vein, jerking him loosely, slowly. Matsukawa’s starting to get needy, his hips twitching as he clearly struggles to not buck up into Hanamaki’s mouth. 

Finally, a needy little whine breaks through Matsukawa’s lips, and Hanamaki grins. 

“Look at me, Issei,” Hanamaki licks again at the head of Matsukawa’s cock, watching with a deep amount of pleasure as Matsukawa struggles to crack open his eyes, to peer down at Hanamaki. 

Hanamaki keeps his eyes trained on Matsukawa’s, let’s them flash red, and sinks down over Matsukawa’s cock. 

The sound Matsukawa let’s out is nothing short of primal; a deep, needy groan. Hanamaki sinks down until Matsukawa reaches the back of his throat, then keeps going. He doesn’t need to breathe, after all. 

He forces himself down until his lips meet the trimmed hairs at the base, and works his throat in a way that has Matsukawa shaking, his eyes practically rolling into the back of his head. Hanamaki pulls off, licking away the mess of spit coating him. 

“Lube?” He says, and Matsukawa struggles to sit up, reaching over and pulling a bottle from the bedside table. He stays sat up, as if ready to help, but Hanamaki just smirks, and pushes at his chest until he lays back. 

“I told you I’m going to take care of you, Issei.” Matsukawa gnaws at his lip, and nods, relaxing again and handing Hanamaki the bottle. “Can I fuck you this time?” He asks, just to be sure. It has been part of his plan to break Matsukawa down the whole time, but if he doesn’t want it, he won’t force him to. 

Matsukawa looks for a moment like he’s going to combust, his eyes blown wide and his hands gripping the sheets so hard his knuckles turn white. Then he nods. 

Hanamaki hums. “Tell me you want it, Issei,” He says, running a hand gently, teasingly, along the inside of his thigh. “Use your words, and I’ll take good care of you.” 

“Fuck-“ Matsukawa squeezes his eyes shut, his cock twitching against his stomach. He takes a few moments to just breathe, and Hanamaki let’s him. He wants to break him down and make him feel good, not overwhelm him so much he wants to stop. 

Eventually, Matsukawa opens his eyes again, meeting Hanamaki’s gaze. 

“I want you to fuck me,” He says, barely above a whisper. “Please.” Hanamaki leans in and presses a kiss to Matsukawa’s lips. 

“So polite,” He teases. “Saying please and everything.” He pulls back, Matsukawa’s cheeks flushed a deep red. “I’ll take good care of you, Issei.” He promises. Then he's settling back down in between Matsukawa’s legs. 

He keeps his eyes on Matsukawa’s as he sinks back down over his cock, bobbing up and down and enjoying the way he throws his head back, his hips raising up off the mattress. 

“You can pull my hair,” He tells Issei, and licks over the head of his cock again. “I don’t mind.” Matsukawa just murmurs something unintelligible, and Hanamaki sinks back down, pulling out noise after wonderful noise from Matsukawa’s lips. 

He takes his time, loving the sounds Matsukawa makes and the way his muscles clench and unclench as he works Matsukawa’s cock in his mouth. Only when he’s sure Matsukawa’s completely lost in the pleasure does he open the bottle of lube, spreading some on his fingers and trying his best to warm it up. Matsukawa doesn’t notice until Hanamaki brings his hand down in between Matsukawa’s thighs, and presses a single finger to the rim. 

A sharp gasp rips out of Matsukawa’s throat, and he finally looks down at Hanamaki again, eyes glassy and lips red and bitten. Hanamaki sinks low over Matsukawa’s cock again, buries it in his throat, and slowly presses a finger inside. 

Hanamaki takes it slow. Slow enough that Matsukawa ends up grinding down against Hanamaki’s hand, wanting more. Hanamaki gives it to him, pushing in further and working the muscles to relax and loosen them. All the while, he works Matsukawa’s cock with his mouth, watching his face as he does. 

Finally, Matsukawa raises a hand to Hanamaki’s hair, gripping the strands at the base of his skull. Hanamaki moans his assent, and makes Matsukawa buck his hips, pushing up into his mouth. 

Hanamaki pulls back and pushes in with a second finger, still taking his time. 

“’Hiro, fuck-“ Matsukawa moans. “Just hurry up, please.” Hanamaki just goes slower, if anything, working him open with two and eventually three fingers. He only pulls out once he's sure Matsukawa is close to his orgasm. 

“How do you want it?” He asks, voice raspy and lips slick with spit and precum. He wiped his fingers off on the sheets below them. 

“Like this-“ Matsukawa huffs out. “I want you to be able to bite.” 

“This isn’t about that,” Hanamaki tells him, shaking his head. “I don’t need to feed. I just want to make you feel good.” 

“You lost a lot of blood back there,” Matsukawa argues. “I’m sure you’re thirsty,” He nudges at Hanamaki’s leg with his own. “Besides, I like it.” 

Hanamaki considers. Sure, his venom isn’t particularly concentrated, so they aren’t really at risk for Matsukawa becoming addicted, but he’d thought the feeding had been a one time thing. He doesn’t want Matsukawa to think that’s all he wants out of this. 

“Hey,” Matsukawa sits up, cupping Hanamaki’s cheeks in his hands. “I wouldn’t ask for it if I didn’t want it.” He says. 

Hanamaki frowns. “I just don’t want you to think-“ 

“I know,” Matsukawa says. “I know you’re not just here for the blood. I know. You don’t have to worry about it.” 

Matsukawa presses a kiss to the corner of Hanamaki’s mouth, then a proper kiss to his lips. Hanamaki smiles into it, then nods. 

“Okay,” He murmurs. “Can I bite your thigh this time?” He runs his hand up and down the inside of Matsukawa’s leg. “It feels weird that everybody can see the bruises the bite leaves.” 

“Possessive, are you?” Matsukawa asks, teasing. Hanamaki huffs. 

“Maybe just a little.” 

Matsukawa kisses Hanamaki once more, then lays back down against a pillow. He lets his legs fall wide open, and Hanamaki settles back in between them. He grabs the lube again and pours some into his palm, works it over his cock as to not cause Matsukawa any pain. He pulls one of Matsukawa’s thighs over his shoulder, grips the base of his cock, and slowly pushes in. 

The heat that swallows him up has Hanamaki groaning, burying his face into the muscles of Matsukawa’s thigh, digging his nails in to keep himself from pushing forward in a single thrust. He wants to take his time with this, and he’s going to. 

Matsukawa’s noises don’t help Hanamaki keep in control. The deep, wanton moan Matsukawa let’s out pushes Hanamaki far too close to desperation, and he has to force himself to stay calm, to stay present. 

Eventually, Hanamaki bottoms out, his hips pressed firmly against the backs of Matsukawa’s thighs. Matsukawa has his eyes squeezed tightly shut, one hand gripping the sheets tightly, the other buried in the pillow his head is rested on. 

Hanamaki is murmuring something, unintelligible even to his own ears. Matsukawa rocks his hips, needy, and Hanamaki obliges. 

The first thrust is slow, despairingly slow. The second a bit faster, though still slow enough that Matsukawa starts to get impatient, reaching down and wrapping a hand around his cock. Hanamaki hums, and finally starts a rhythm, pulling out and thrusting back in, angling his hips to hit the right spot- 

Matsukawa practically yelps, his back arching off the bed. Hanamaki smirks, pulls his hips back again, and presses directly against Matsukawa’s prostate again. 

“Fuck- fuck, 'Hiro,” Matsukawa moans, and Hanamaki just groans in response. He bats Matsukawa’s hand away from his cock and wraps his own around it, jerking him off while he fucks into him, slow but deep. 

“Is that good?” Hanamaki asks, as if he doesn’t already know. 

Matsukawa let’s out a garbled noise, quickly losing his ability to speak as Hanamaki’s thrusts directly hit his prostate, over and over again. 

“Hiro, fuck- faster-“ 

Hanamaki grins, and finally picks up the pace, not quite break-neck, but enough that he has Matsukawa’s jaw hanging slack, his eyes almost unable to stay open as he moans out incoherent nonsense. 

Hanamaki feels like he's starting to lose it, too, a hot pressure building deep inside his stomach. Hanamaki remembers how Matsukawa came from Hanamaki’s bite the first time, how much he’d enjoyed watching. 

“Issei,” He forces out as his fangs pop into place. “Look at me.” Matsukawa does, after a moment, manage to look Hanamaki’s way. He moans immediately at the sight, Hanamaki’s fangs shown, his eyes flashing a brilliant red. Hanamaki jerks Matsukawa’s cock quickly, working him closer to his orgasm. 

Hanamaki kisses along the inside of Matsukawa’s thigh, while watching his face the whole time. He licks at the skin, nips at it without breaking it. Matsukawa clenches his muscles, impatient and desperate. 

Hanamaki sinks his teeth into the flesh. 

Matsukawa cries out, back arching off the bed at the overwhelming sensations; the cock inside him, the hand around him. The bite of Hanamaki’s fangs, the venom attacking his senses. He cums almost immediately, unable to let out anything more than a few rasping moans as his body jerks, Hanamaki working him through it. 

Hanamaki comes only seconds later, his vision flashing white. He sucks Matsukawa’s blood into his mouth all the while, swallowing it down and filling himself with that heat. 

When they’re both coming down from their orgasms, Hanamaki works to lick at the wound so it will heal. There’s blood dripping down his chin again, down his chest. Hanamaki is usually never so messy when it comes to feeding, but he also usually never gets it right from the source like this. 

After pulling out, Hanamaki ends up slumping against Matsukawa’s body. Matsukawa lifts an arm and wraps it around Hanamaki’s waist. They lay like that for a while, just basking in the afterglow. 

Eventually, Hanamaki manages to raise his head, and press a kiss along the underside of Matsukawa’s jaw. 

“You might be a bit bruised again,” He admits. “Sorry.” Matsukawa hums, running a hand through Hanamaki’s mussed hair. 

“I will only accept the apology if it comes with creampuffs later.” He says, and Hanamaki let’s out a little laugh. 

“Of course,” He says. “Ill get right to baking them, then.” He goes to sit up, so they can clean up and get dressed, but Matsukawa wraps both arms tightly around his body. 

“Nope, stay here.” He tells Hanamaki. “A nap first.” 

Hanamaki gives in almost immediately, already basking in the warmth of the new blood in his body and Matsukawa wrapped around him. He hums, reaching over and grabbing at the blankets. 

“Fine then,” He says, as if it’s something he really doesn’t want to do. “But only if you make coffee later.” 

Matsukawa holds Hanamaki close to his body even as they move into more comfortable sleeping positions. He presses a kiss to the corner of Hanamaki’s mouth, smiling. 

“Deal.”


End file.
